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NATIONAL EPICS 



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BY 



KATE MILNER RABB 




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CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY 

1896 



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Copyright 
By a. C. McClurg and Co. 

A.D. 1896 



TO 

MY MOTHER. 



NATIONAL EPICS 



PREFACE, 



This volume is intended for an introduction to 
the study of the epics. While the simplicity and 
directness of the epic style seem to make such a 
book unnecessary, the fact that to many persons of 
literary tastes some of these great poems are inac- 
cessible, and that to many more the pleasure of 
exploring for themselves " the realms of gold " is 
rendered impossible by the cares of business, has 
seemed sufficient excuse for its being. Though the 
beauty of the original is of necessity lost in a con- 
densation of this kind, an endeavor has been made 
to preserve the characteristic epithets, and to retain 
what Mr. Arnold called " the simple truth about the 
matter of the poem." It is believed that the sketch 
prefacing each story, giving briefly the length, versi- 
fication, and history of the poem, will have its value 
to those readers who have not access to the epics, 
and that the selections following the story, each re- 
counting a complete incident, will give a better idea 
of the epic than could be formed from passages scat- 
tered through the text. 

The epic originated among tribes of barbarians, 
who deified departed heroes and recited legends in 
praise of their deeds. As the hymn developed, the 



4 PREFACE. 

chorus and strophe were dropped, and the narrative 
only was preserved. The word *' epic " was used 
simply to distinguish the narrative poem, which was 
recited, from the lyric, which was sung, and from the 
dramatic, which was acted. 

As the nation passed from childhood to youth, the 
legends of the hero that each wandering minstrel 
had changed to suit his fancy, were collected and 
fused into one by some great poet, who by his power 
of unification made this written epic his own. 

This is the origin of the Hindu epics, the '' IHad " 
and the '' Odyssey," the " Kalevala," the '• Shah- 
Nameh," "Beowulf," the " Nibelungen Lied," the 
" Cid," and the '' Song of Roland." 

The conditions for the production of the primitive 
epic exist but once in a nation's growth. Its later 
epics must be written on subjects of national import- 
ance, chosen by the poet, who arranges and embel- 
lishes his material according to the rules of the 
primitive epic. To this class belong the **^neid," 
the " Jerusalem Delivered," and the " Lusiad." 
Dante's poem is broader, for it is the epic of med- 
iaeval Christianity. Milton likewise sought ** higher 
argument" than 

" Wars, hitherto the only argument 
Heroic deemed," 

and crystallized the religious beliefs of his time in 
" Paradise Lost." 

The characteristics both of the primitive and the 
modern epic are their uniform metre, simplicity of 
construction, concentration of action into a short 
time, and the use of episode and dialogue. The 
main difference lies in the impersonality of the 



PREFACE, 5 

primitive epic, whose author has so skillfully hidden 
himself behind his work that, as some one has said of 
Homer, " his heroes are immortal, but his own exist- 
ence is doubtful." 

Although the historical events chronicled in the 
epics have in every case been so distorted by the 
fancy of the poets that they cannot be accepted as 
history, the epics are storehouses of information con- 
cerning ancient manners and customs, religious be- 
liefs, forms of government, treatment of women, and 
habits of feeling. 

Constructed upon the noblest principles of art, and 
pervaded by the eter'nal calm of the immortals, these 
poems have an especial value to us, who have scarcely 
yet realized that poetry is an art, and are feverish 
from the unrest of our time. If by the help of this 
volume any reader be enabled to find a portion of 
the wisdom that is hidden in these mines, its pur- 
pose will have been accomplished. 

My thanks are due to Mr. John A. Wilstach for the 
use of selections from his translation of the " Divine 
Comedy;" to Prof. J. M. Crawford, for the use of 
selections from his translation of the " Kalevala; " to 
Henry Holt & Co., for the use of selections from 
Rabillon's translation of ** La Chanson de Roland ; " 
to Roberts Brothers, for the use of selections from 
Edwin Arnold's " Indian Idylls ; " to Prof J. C. Hall, 
for the use of selections from his translation of " Beo- 
wulf; " and to A. C. Armstrong & Son, for the use 
of selections from Conington's Translation of the 
" ^neid." The selections from the ** Iliad " and the 
" Odyssey " are used with the permission of and by 



o PREFACE, 

special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 
publishers of Bryant's translations of the *' Iliad" and 
the " Odyssey." Special thanks are due to Miss Eliza 
G. Browning of the Public Library of Indianapolis, to 
Miss Florence Hughes of the Library of Indiana 
University, and to Miss Charity Dye, of Indianapolis. 

K. M. R. 

Indianapolis, Ind., September, 189$. 



CONTENTS. 



^ 



Page 

The Hindu Epic : The Ramayana 1 1 ^ 

y The Hindu Epic ; The Maha-bharata 29 

The Greek Epic : The Iliad . T^ 53 ^ 

vVT'he Greek Epic : The Odyssey 75 

The Finnish Epic : The Kalevala 99 

The Roman Epic: The ^neid K 125 \y/ 

The Saxon Epic: Beowulf : \^\ \/ 

he German Epic: The Nibelungen Lied ... 169 ' ' 

v^j^JVThe French Epic: The Song of Roland . . . . 193 

The Persian Epic: The Shah-nameh ..... 213 

v^. The Spanish Epic : The Poem of the Cid . . . 237 \/ 

/^"The Italian Epic: The Divine Comedy ."*. . . 257 

^^The Italian Epic: The Orlando Furioso . . . 291 v 

The Portuguese Epic: The Lusiad : 319 \/ 

1,>The Italian Epic : The Jerusalem Delivered . . 343 y/ 

The English Epic: Paradise Lost ". 365 

The English Epic: Paradise Regained L^. . . 385 



SELECTIONS. 



From the RamAYANA : Translator 

The Descent of the Ganges .... Milman 
The Death of Yajnadatta „ 

From the Maha-bharata : 

Savitri; or, Love and Death ... Arnold 
The Great Journey „ . 

From the Iliad : 

Helen at the Scaean Gates .... Bryant 
The Parting of Hector and Andromache „ . 

From the Odyssey: 

The Palace of Alcinoiis Bryant 

The Bending of the Bow „ . 

From the Kalevala: 

Ilmarinen's Wedding Feast . . . Crawford 
The Birth of the Harp „ • 

From the ^neid : 

Nisus and Euryalus Conington 

From Beowulf : 

GrendeFs Mother Hall 

From the Nibelungen Lied : 

How Brunhild was received at Worms Lettsom 

How Margrave Riideger was slain . . „ 

From the Song of Roland : 

The Horn Rabillon 

Roland's Death 



Page 
21 
23 



41 
46 



(^1 

70 



92 

93 



113 
118 



141 

i6r 

183 
187 



204 
208 



lO SELECTIONS. 

From the Shah-Nameh : 

Translator Page 
The Rajah of India sends a Chess- 
board to Nushirvan Robmson . . 225 

Zal and Rudabeh „ . . . 229 

From the Poem of the Cid : 

Count Raymond and My Cid . . Onnsby . . 248 
My Cid's Triumph „ ... 250 

From the Divine Comedy : 

Count Ugolino Wilsfach . . 286 

Buonconte di Montefeltro ... „ . . 288 

Beatrice descending from Heaven . „ . . 289 

The Exquisite Beauty of Beatrice „ . . 290 

From the Orlando Furioso: 

The Death of Zerbino .... Rose ... 311 

From the Lusiad : 

Inez de Castro Mickle ... 332 

The Spirit of the Cape „ • ■ - 2i?,^ 

From the Jerusalem Delivered: 

Sophronia and Olindo Wiffen . . . 356 

From Paradise Lost : 

Satan 381 

Apostrophe to Light 383 

From Paradise Regained: 

The Temptation of the Vision of the 

Kingdoms of the Earth 395 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



THE RAMAYANA. 

" He who sings and hears this poem continually has attained to the highest 
state of enjoyment, and will finally be equal to the gods." 

THE Ramayana, the Hindu Iliad, is variously ascribed 
to the fifth, third, and first centuries b. c, its many 
interpolations making it almost impossible to determine its 
age by internal evidence. Its authorship is unknown, but 
according to legend it was sung by Kuga and Lava, the 
sons of Rama, to whom it was taught by Valmiki. Of the 
three versions now extant, one is attributed to Valmiki, 
another to Tuli Das, and a third to Vyasa. 

Its historical basis, almost lost in the innumerable episodes 
and grotesque imaginings of the Hindu, is probably the con- 
quest of southern India and Ceylon by the Aryans. 

The Ramayana is written in the Sanskrit language, is 
divided into seven books, or sections, and contains fifty 
thousand lines, the English translation of which, by Griffith, 
occupies five volumes. 

The heroj Rama, is still an object of worship in India, the 
route of his wanderings being, each year, trodden by devout 
pilgrims. The poem is not a mere Hterary monument, — it is 
a part of the actual religion of the Hindu, and is held in 
such reverence that the mere reading or hearing of it, or 
certain passages of it, is believed to free from sin and grant 
his every desire to the reader or hearer. ^ 



12 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Ramayana. G. W. 
Cox's Mythology and Folklore, 1881, p. 313; John Dow- 
son's Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology, Religion, 
Geography, History, and Literature, 1879 ; Sir William Jones 
on the Literature of the Hindus (in his Works, vol. iv.) ; Maj.- 
Gen. Vans Kennedy's Researches into Hindu Mythology, 
1831 ; James Mill's History of British India, 1840, vol. ii., pp. 
47-123; F. Max Miiller's Ancient Sanskrit Literature, 
1859; E. A. Reed's Hindu Literature, 1891, pp. 153-271 ; 
Albrecht Weber's History of Indian Literature, 1878, pp. 
191-195 ; J. T. Wheeler's History of India, 4 vols., 1876, 
vol. ii. ; Sir Monier Williams's Indian Wisdom, 1863, Indian 
Epic Poetry, 1863 ; Article on Sanskrit Literature in Ency- 
clopedia Britannica ; R. M. Cust's The Ramayana : a 
Sanskrit Epic (in his Linguistic and Oriental Essays, 1880, 
p. 56) ; T. Goldstuecker's Ramayana (in his Literary Re- 
mains, 1879, vol. i., p. 155) ; C. J. Stone's Cradleland of 
Arts and Creeds, 1880, pp. 11-21 ; Albrecht Weber's On 
the Ramayana, 1870; Westminster Review, 1849, vol. 1., p. 
34 ; J. C. Oman's Great Indian Epics, 1874, pp. 13-81. 

Standard English Translations, the RAmayana. — 
The Ramayana, Tr. by R. T. H. Griffith, 5 vols., 1870-1874 
(Follows Bombay ed., Translated into metre of '' Lady of the 
Lake ") ; Extracts from the Ramayana, Tr. by Sir William 
Jones (in his Works, vol. 13) ; Iliad of the East, F. Richard- 
son, 1873 (Popular translations of a set of legends from the 
Ramayana) ; The Ramayana translated into English Prose, 
edited and published by Naumatiia Nath Dutt, 7 vols., Cal- 
cutta, 1 890-1 894. 



THE STORY OF THE rAmAyANA. 13 



THE STORY OF THE RAMAYANA. 

Brahma, creator of the universe, though all powerful, 
could not revoke a promise once made. For this reason, 
Ravana, the demon god of Ceylon, stood on his head 
in the midst of five fires for ten thousand years, and at 
the end of that time boldly demanded of Brahma as a re- 
ward that he should not be slain by gods, demons, or genii. 
He also requested the gift of nine other heads and eighteen 
additional arms and hands. 

These having been granted, he began by the aid of his 
evil spirits, the Rakshasas, to lay waste the earth and to do 
violence to the good, especially to the priests. 

At the time when Ravana's outrages were spreading terror 
throughout the land, and Brahma, looking down from his 
throne, shuddered to see the monster he had gifted with 
such fell power, there reigned in Ayodhya, now the city of 
Oude, a good and wise raja, Dasaratha, who had reigned 
over the splendid city for nine thousand years without once 
growing weary. He had but one grief, — that he was child- 
less, — and at the opening of the story he was preparing to 
make the great sacrifice, Asva-medha, to propitiate the gods, 
that they might give him a son. 

The gods, well pleased, bore his request to Brahma in 
person, and incidentally preferred a request that he provide 
some means of destroying the monster Ravana that was 
working such woe among their priests, and disturbing their 
sacrifices. 

Brahma granted the first request, and, cudgeling his brains 
for a device to destroy Ravana, bethought himself that while 
he had promised that neither gods, genii, nor demons should 
slay him, he had said nothing of man. He accordingly led 
the appealing gods to Vishnu, who proclaimed that the mon- 
ster should be slain by men and monkeys, and that he would 



14 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



himself be re-incarnated as the eldest son of Dasaratha and 
in this form compass the death of Ravana. 

In course of time, as a reward for his performance of the 
great sacrifice, four sons were born to Dasaratha, Rama by 
Kausalya, his oldest wife, Bharata, whose mother was Kaikeyi, 
and twin sons, Lakshmana and Satrughna, whose mother was 
Sumitra. 

Rama, the incarnation of Vishnu, destined to destroy 
Ravana, grew daily in grace, beauty, and strength. When 
he was but sixteen years old, having been sent for by a sage 
to destroy the demons who were disturbing the forest hermits 
in their religious rites, he departed unattended, save by his 
brother Lakshmana and a guide, into the pathless forests, 
where he successfully overcame the terrible Rakshasa, Tarika, 
and conveyed her body to the grateful sage. 

While he was journeying through the forests, destroying 
countless Rakshasas, he chanced to pass near the kingdom 
of Mithila and heard that its king, Janaka, had offered his 
peerless daughter, Sita, in marriage to the man who could 
bend the mighty bow of Siva the destroyer, which, since its 
owner's death, had been kept at Janaka's court. 

Rama at once determined to accomplish the feat, which 
had been essayed in vain by so many suitors. When he pre- 
sented himself at court Janaka was at once won by his youth 
and beauty ; and when the mighty bow, resting upon an eight- 
wheeled car, was drawn in by five thousand men, and Rama 
without apparent effort bent it until it broke, he gladly gave 
him his beautiful daughter, and after the splendid wedding 
ceremonies were over, loaded the happy pair with presents 
to carry back to Ayodhya. 

When Dasaratha, who had attended the marriage of his son 
at Mithila, returned home, he began to feel weary of reigning, 
and bethought himself of the ancient Hindu custom of mak- 
ing the eldest son and heir apparent a Yuva-Raja, — that is 
appointing him assistant king. Rama deserved this honor, 
and would, moreover, be of great assistance to him. 

His happy people received the announcement of his inten- 
tion with delight ; the priests approved of it as well, and the 



THE STORY OF THE rAmAyANA. 15 

whole city was in the midst of the most splendid preparations 
for the ceremony, when it occurred to Dasaratha that all he 
lacked was the congratulations of his youngest and favorite 
wife, Kaikeyi, on this great event. The well-watered streets 
and the garlanded houses had already aroused the suspicions 
of Kaikeyi, — suspicions speedily confirmed by the report of 
her maid. Angered and jealous because the son of Kausalya 
and not her darling Bharata, at that time absent from the 
city, was to be made Yuva-Raja, she fled to the " Chamber 
of Sorrows," and was there found by the old Raja. 

Though Kaikeyi was his youngest and most beautiful wife, 
her tears, threats, and entreaties would have been of no avail 
had she not recalled that, months before, the old Raja, in 
gratitude for her devoted nursing during his illness, had 
granted her two promises. She now demanded the fulfilment 
of these before she would consent to smile upon him, and 
the consent won, she required him, first, to appoint Bharata 
Yuva-Raja ; and, second, to exile Rama for fourteen years to 
the terrible forest of Dandaka. 

The promise of a Hindu, once given, cannot be revoked. 
In spite of the grief of the old Raja, of Kausalya, his old 
wife, and of all the people, who were at the point of revolt at 
the sudden disgrace of their favorite prince, the terrible news 
was announced to Rama, and he declared himself ready to 
go, to save his father from dishonor. 

He purposed to go alone, but Sita would not suffer her- 
self to be thus deserted. Life without him, she pleaded, was 
worse than death ; and so eloquent was her grief at the thought 
of parting that she was at last permitted to don the rough gar- 
ment of bark provided by the malicious Kaikeyi. 

The people of Ayodhya, determined to share the fate of 
their favorites, accompanied them from the city, their tears 
laying the dust raised by Rama's chariot wheels. But when 
sleep overcame them, Rama, Sita, and Lakshraana escaped 
from them, dismissed their charioteer, and, crossing the 
Ganges, made their way to the mountain of Citra-kuta, where 
they took up their abode. 

No more beautiful place could be imagined. Flowers of 



1 6 NATIONAL EPICS. 

every kind, delicious fruits, and on every side the most pleas- 
ing prospects, together with perfect love, made their hermit- 
age a paradise on earth. Here the exiles led an idyllic 
existence until sought out by Bharata, who, learning from his 
mother on his return home the ruin she had wrought in the 
Raj, had indignantly spurned her, and hastened to Dandaka. 
The old Raja had died from grief soon after the departure of 
the exiles, and Bharata now demanded that Rama should 
return to Ayodhya and become Raja, as was his right, as 
eldest son. 

When Rama refused to do this until the end of his fourteen 
years of exile, Bharata vowed that for fourteen years he would 
wear the garb of a devotee and live outside the city, com- 
mitting the management of the Raj to a pair of golden sandals 
which he took from Rama's feet. All the affairs of state 
would be transacted under the authority of the sandals, and 
Bharata, while ruling the Raj, would pay homage to them. 

Soon after the departure of Bharata the exiles were warned 
to depart from their home on Citra-kuta and seek a safer 
hermitage, for terrible rakshasas filled this part of the forest. 
They accordingly sought the abode of Atri the hermit, whose 
wife Anasuya was so pleased with Sita's piety and devotion 
to her husband that she bestowed upon her the crown of 
immortal youth and beauty. They soon found a new abode 
in the forest of Pancarati, on the banks of the river Godavari, 
where Lakshmana erected a spacious bamboo house. 

Their happiness in this elysian spot was destined to be 
short-lived. Near them dwelt a horrible rakshasa, Sur- 
panakha by name, who fell in love with Rama. When she 
found that he did not admire the beautiful form she assumed 
to win him, and that both he and Lakshmana laughed at her 
advances, she attempted to destroy Sita, only to receive in 
the attempt a disfiguring wound from the watchful Laksh- 
mana. Desiring revenge for her disfigured countenance and 
her scorned love, she hastened to the court of her brother 
Ravana, in Ceylon, and in order to induce him to avenge her 
wrongs, dwelt upon the charms of the beautiful wife of Rama. 

Some days after, Sita espied a golden fawn, flecked with 



THE STORY OF THE rAmAyANA. 



17 



silver, among the trees near their home. Its shining body, 
its jewel-Hke horns, so captivated her fancy that she implored 
Rama, if possible, to take it alive for her ; if not, at least to 
bring her its skin for a couch. As Rama departed, he warned 
Lakshmana not to leave Sita for one moment \ he would 
surely return, since no weapon could harm him. In the 
depths of the forest the fawn fell by his arrow, crying as it fell, 
" O Sita ! O Lakshmana ! " in Rama's very tones. 

When Sita heard the cry she reproached Lakshmana for 
not going to his brother's aid, until he left her to escape her 
bitter words. He had no sooner disappeared in the direc- 
tion of the cry than a hermit appeared and asked her to 
minister unto his wants. 

Sita carried him food, bathed his feet, and conversed with 
him until, able no longer to conceal his admiration for her, 
he revealed himself in his true form as the demon god of 
Ceylon. 

When she indignantly repulsed him he seized her, and 
mounting his chariot drove rapidly towards Ceylon. 

When Rama and Lakshmana returned home, soon after, 
they found the house empty. As they searched through the 
forest for traces of her they found a giant vulture dying from 
wounds received while endeavoring to rescue the shrieking 
Sita. Going farther, they encountered the monkey king 
Sugriva and his chiefs, among whom Sita had dropped from 
the chariot her scarf and ornaments. 

Sugriva had been deposed from his kingdom by his brother 
Bali, who had also taken his wife from him. Rama agreed 
to conquer Bali if Sugriva would assist in the search for Sita ; 
and, the agreement made, they at once marched upon Kish- 
kindha, together slew Bali, and gained possession of the 
wealthy city and the queen Tara. They were now ready to 
search for the lost Sita. 

In his quest through every land, Hanuman, the monkey 
general, learned from the king of the vultures that she had 
been carried to Ceylon. He immediately set out for the 
coast with his army, only to find a bridgeless ocean stretch- 
ing between them and the island. Commanding his soldiers 

z 



1 8 NATIONAL EPICS. 

to remain where they were, Hanuman expanded his body to 
enormous proportions, leaped the vast expanse of water, 
and alighted upon a mountain, from which he could look 
down upon Lanka, the capital city of Ceylon. Perceiving 
the city to be closely guarded, he assumed the form of a cat, 
and thus, unsuspected, crept through the barriers and exam- 
ined the city. He found the demon god in his apartments, 
surrounded by beautiful women, but Sita was not among 
them. Continuing his search, he at last discovered her, her 
beauty dimmed by grief, seated under a tree in a beautiful 
asoka grove, guarded by hideous rakshasas with the faces 
of buffaloes, dog's, and swine. 

Assuming the form of a tiny monkey, Hanuman crept 
down the tree, and giving her the ring of Rama, took one 
from her. He offered to carry her away with him, but Sita 
declared that Rama must himself come to her rescue. 
While they were talking together, the demon god appeared, 
and, after fruitless wooing, announced that if Sita did not 
yield herself to him in two months he would have her guards 
*^ mince her limbs with steel " for his morning repast. 

In his rage, Hanuman destroyed a mango grove and was 
captured by the demon's guards, who were ordered to set his 
tail on fire. As soon as this was done, Hanuman made 
himself so small that he slipped from his bonds, and, jumping 
upon the roofs, spread a conflagration through the city of 
Lanka. 

He leaped back to the mainland, conveyed the news of 
Sita's captivity to Rama and Sugriva, and was soon engaged 
in active preparations for the campaign. 

As long as the ocean was unbridged it was impossible for 
any one save Hanuman to cross it. In his anger at being 
so thwarted, Rama turned his weapons against it, until from 
the terrified waves rose the god of the ocean, who promised 
him that if Nala built a bridge, the waves should support the 
materials as firmly as though it were built on land. 

Terror reigned in Lanka at the news of the approach of 
Rama. Vibishana, Ravana's brother, deserted to Rama, 
because of the demon's rage when he advised him to make 



THE STORY OF THE rAmAYANA. jq 

peace with Rama. Fiercely fought battles ensued, in which 
even the gods took part, Vishnu and Indra taking sides with 
Rama, and the evil spirits fighting with Ravana. 

After the war had been carried on for some time, with 
varying results, it was decided to determine it by single 
combat between Ravana and Rama. Then even the gods 
were terrified at the fierceness of the conflict. At each shot 
Rama's mighty bow cut off a head of the demon, which at 
once grew back, and the hero was in despair until he 
remembered the all-powerful arrow given him by Brahma. 

As the demon fell by this weapon, flowers rained from 
heaven upon the happy victor, and his ears were ravished 
with celestial music. 

Touched by the grief of Ravana's widows, Rama ordered 
his foe a splendid funeral, and then sought the conquered 
city. 

Sita was led forth, beaming with happiness at finding 
herself re-united to her husband ; but her happiness was 
destined to be of short duration. Rama received her with 
coldness and with downcast eyes, saying that she could no 
longer be his wife, after having dwelt in the zenana of the 
demon. Sita assured him of her innocence ; but on his con- 
tinuing to revile her, she ordered her funeral pyre to be 
built, since she would rather die by fire than live despised 
by Rama. The sympathy of all the bystanders was with 
Sita, but Rama saw her enter the flames without a tremor. 
Soon Agni, the god of fire, appeared, bearing the uninjured 
Sita in his arms. Her innocence thus pubhcly proved by 
the trial by fire, she was welcomed by Rama, whose treat- 
ment she tenderly forgave. 

The conquest made, the -demon destroyed, and Sita 
restored, Rama returned in triumph to Ayodhya, and as- 
sumed the government. The city was prosperous, the 
people were happy, and for a time all went well. It was 
not long, however, before whispers concerning Sita's long 
abode in Ceylon spread abroad, and some one whispered to 
Rama that a famine in the country was due to the guilt of 
Sita, who had suffered the caresses of the demon while in 



20 NATIONAL EPICS. 

captivity in Ceylon. Forgetful of the trial by fire, forgetful 
of Sita's devotion to him through weal and woe, the ungrate- 
ful Rama immediately ordered her to the forest in which 
they had spent together the happy years of their exile. 

Without a murmur the unhappy Sita, alone and unbe- 
fri ended, dragged herself to the forest, and, torn with grief of 
body and spirit, found the hermitage of Valmiki, where she 
gave birth to twin sons. Lava and Kuga. Here she reared 
them, with the assistance of the hermit, who was their teacher, 
and under whose care they grew to manhood, handsome and 
strong. 

It chanced about the time the youths were twenty years 
old, that Rama, who had grown peevish and disagreeable 
with age, began to think the gods were angered with him 
because he had killed Ravana, who was the son of a Brahman. 
Determined to propitiate them by means of the great sacri- 
fice, he caused a horse to be turned loose in the forest. 
When his men went to retake it, at the end of the year, it 
was caught by two strong and beautiful youths who resisted 
all efforts to capture them. In his rage Rama went to the 
forest in person, only to learn that the youths were his twin 
sons, Lava and Kuga. Struck with remorse, Rama recalled 
the sufferings of his wife Sita, and on learning that she was 
at the hermitage of Valmiki, ordered her to come to him, 
that he might take her to him again, having first caused her 
to endure the trial by fire to prove her innocence to all his 
court. 

Sita had had time to recover from the love of her youth, 
and the prospect of life with Rama, without the coideur de 
rose of youthful love, was not altogether pleasant. At first, 
she even refused to see him ; but finally, moved by the 
appeals of Valmiki and his wife, she clad herself in her 
richest robes, and, young and beautiful as when first won by 
Rama, she stood before him. Not deigning to look in his 
face, she appealed to the earth. If she had never loved any 
man but Rama, if her truth and purity were known to the 
earth, let it open its bosom and take her to it. While the 
armies stood trembling with horror, the earth opened, a 



THE STORY OF THE rAmAyANA. 21 

gorgeous throne appeared, and the goddess of earth, seated 
upon it, took Sita beside her and conveyed her to the realms 
of eternal happiness, leaving the too late repentant Rama to 
wear out his remaining years in shame and penitence. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE RAMAYANA. 

The Descent of the Ganges. 

Sagara, an early king of Ayodhya, had sixty thousand sons, 
whom he sent out one day to recover a horse that had been 
designed for the great sacrifice, but had been stolen by a 
rakshasa. Having searched the earth unsuccessfully, they pro- 
ceeded to dig into the lov/er regions. 

Cloven with shovel and with hoe, pierced by axes and by spades, 
Shrieked the earth in frantic woe ; rose from out the yawning shades 
Yells of anguish, hideous roars from the expiring brood of hell, — 
Serpents, giants, and asoors, in the deep abyss that dwell. 
Sixty thousand leagues in length, all unweary, full of wrath, 
Through the centre, in their strength, clove they down their hellward path. 
And downward dug they many a rood, and downward till they saw aghast, 
Where the earth-bearing elephant stood, ev'n like a mountain tall and vast. 
'T is he whose head aloft sustains the broad earth's forest-clothed round. 
With all its vast and spreading plains, and many a stately city crowned. 
If underneath the o'erbearing load bows down his weary head, 't is then 
The mighty earthquakes are abroad, and shaking down the abodes of men . 
Around earth's pillar moved they slowly, and thus in humble accents blest 
Him the lofty and the holy, that bears the region of the East. 
And southward dug they many a rood, until before their shuddering sight 
The next earth-bearing elephant stood, huge Mahapadmas' mountain height. 
Upon his head earth's southern bound, all full of wonder, saw they rest. 
Slow and awe-struck paced they round, and him, earth's southern pillar, 

blest. 
Westward then their work they urge, king Sagara's six myriad race, 
Unto the vast earth's western verge, and there in his appointed place 
The next earth-bearing elephant stood, huge Saumanasa's mountain crest ; 
Around they paced in humble mood, and in like courteous phrase addrest, 
And still their weary toil endure, and onward dig until they see 
Last earth-bearing Himapandure, glorying in his majesty. 

At last they reach the place where Vishnu appears with the horse. A 
■flame issues from the mouth of the indignant deity and destroys the six 
myriad sons of Sagara. The adventure devolves on their brother Ansuman^ 
who achieves it with perfect success. He is permitted to lead away the horse. 



2 2 NATIONAL EPICS. 

but the ashes of his brothers cannot be purified by earthly water ; the god- 
dess Ganga must first be brought to earth., and having tindergone lustration 
from that holy flood., the race of Sagara are to ascend to heaven. Brahma 
at last gives his permission to Ganga to descend. King Bhagiraiha takes 
his stand on the top of Gokarna, the sacred peak of Himavan if he Himalaya), 
and here — 

Stands with arms outstretch' d on high, amid five blazing fires, the one 

Towards each quarter of the sky, the fifth the full meridian sun. 

Mid fiercest frosts on snow he slept, the dry and witiiered leaves his food, 

Mid rains his roofless vigil kept, the soul and sense alike subdued. 

High on the top of Himavan the mighty Mashawara stood ; 

And " Descend," he gave the word to the heaven-meandering water — 

Full of wrath the mandate heard Himavan's majestic daughter. 

To a giant's stature soaring and intolerable speed. 

From heaven's height down rushed she, pouring upon Siva's sacred head. 

Him the goddess thought in scorn with her resistless might to sweep 

By her fierce waves overborne, down to hell's remotest deep. 

Down on Sankara's holy head, down the holy fell, and there. 
Amid the entangling meshes spread, of his loose and flowing hair, 
Vast and boundless as the woods upon the Himalaya's brow. 
Nor ever may the struggling floods rush headlong to the earth below. 
Opening, egress was not there, amid those winding, long meanders. 
Within that labyrinthine hair, for many an age, the goddess wanders. 

By the penances of the king, Siva is propitiated, and the stream, by seven 
chanjiels^fjids its way to the plains of India. 

Up the Raja at the sign upon his glittering chariot leaps, 
Instant Ganga the divine follows his majestic steps. 
From the high heaven burst she forth first on Siva's lofty crown, 
Headlong then, and prone to earth thundering rushed the cataract down, 
Swarms of bright-hued fish came dashing ; turtles, dolphins in their mirth, 
Fallen or falling, glancing, flashing, to the many-gleaming earth. 
And all the host of heaven came down, spirits and genii, in amaze, 
And each forsook his heavenly throne, upon that glorious scene to gaze. 
On cars, like high-towered cities, seen, with elephants and coursers rode, 
Or on soft swinging palanquin, lay wondering each observant god. 
As met in bright divan each god, and flashed their'jewell'd vestures' rays, 
The coruscating aether glow'd, as with a hundred suns ablaze. 
And with the fish and dolphins gleaming, and scaly crocodiles and snakes, 
Glanc'd the air, as when fast streaming the blue lightning shoots and breaks : 
And in ten thousand sparkles bright went flashing up the cloudy spray, 
The snowy flocking swans less white, within its glittering mists at play. 
And headlong now poured down the flood, and now in silver circlets wound, 
Then lake-like spread all bright and broad, then gently, gently flowed around, 
Then 'neath the caverned earth descending, then spouted up the boiling tide, 
Then stream with stream harmonious blending, swell bubbling up and smooth 

subside. 
By that heaven-welling water's breast, the genii and the sages stood, 
Its sanctifying dews they blest, and plung'd within the lustral flood. 



THE STORY OF THE rAmAyANA. 23 

Whoe'er beneath the curse of heaven from that immaculate world had fled, 
To th' impure earth in exile driven, to that all-holy baptism sped ; 
And purified from every sin, to the bright spirit's bliss restor'd, 
Th' ethereal sphere they entered in, and through th' empyreal mansions 

soar'd. 
The world in solemn jubilee beheld those heavenly waves draw near, 
From sin and dark pollution free, bathed in the blameless waters clear. 
Swift king Bhagiratha drave upon his lofty glittering car, 
And swift with her obeisant wave bright Ganga followed him afar. 

Milnian's Translation. 



The Death of Yajnadatta. 

The Raja Dasaratha was compelled to banish his favorite 
son Rama, immediately after his marriage to Sita, because his 
banishment was demanded by the Raja's wife Kaikeyi, to 
whom he had once promised to grant any request she might 
make. His grief at the loss of his son is described in this 
selection. 

Scarce Rama to the wilderness had with his younger brother gone, 
Abandoned to his deep distress, king Dasaratha sate alone. 
Upon his sons to exile driven when thought that king, as Indra bright. 
Darkness came o'er him, as in heaven when pales th' eclipsed sun his 

light. 
Six days he sate, and mourned and pined for Rama all that weary time. 
At midnight on his wandering mind rose up his old forgotten crime. 
His queen, Kausalya, the divine, addressed he, as she rested near : 

" Kausalya, if thou wakest, incline to thy lord's speech thy ready ear. 
Whatever deed, or good or ill, by man, O blessed queen, is wrought. 
Its proper fruit he gathers still, by time to slow perfection brought. 
He who the opposing counsel's weight compares not in his judgment cool, 
Or misery or bliss his fate, among the sage is deemed a fool. 
As one that quits the Amra bower, the bright Palasa's pride to gain 
Mocked by the promise of its flower, seeks its unripening fruit in vain. 
So I the lovely Amra left for the Palasa's barren bloom, 
Through mine own fatal error 'reft of banished Rama, mourn in gloom. 
Kausalya ! in my early youth by my keen arrow, at his mark 
Aimed with too sure and deadly truth, was wrought a deed most fell and 

dark. 
At length, the evil that I did, hath fallen upon my fated head. 
As when on subtle poison hid an unsuspecting child hath fed; 
Even as that child unwittingly hath made the poisonous fare his food, 
Even so, in ignorance by me was wrought that deed of guilt and blood. 
Unwed wert thou in virgin bloom, and I in youth's delicious prime, 
The season of the rains had come, — that soft and love enkindling time. 
Earth's moisture all absorbed, the sun through all the world its warmth had 

spread, 



24 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



Turned from the north, its course begun, where haunt the spirits of the dead : 
Gathering o'er all the horizon's bound on high the -welcome clouds ap- 
peared, 
Exulting, all the birds flew round, — cranes, cuckoos, peacocks, flew and 

veered. 
And all down each wide-watered shore the troubled, yet still hmpid floods, 
Over their banks began to pour, as o'er them hung the bursting clouds. 
And, saturate with cloud-born dew, the glittering verdant-mantled earth, 
The cuckoos and the peacocks flew, disputing as in drunken mirth. — 

" In such a time, so soft, so bland, oh beautiful! I chanced to go, 
With quiver and with bow in hand, where clear Sarayu's waters flow, 
If haply to the river's brink at night the buffalo might stray. 
Or elephant, the stream to drink, — intent my savage game to slay. 
Then of a water cruse, as slow it filled, the gurgling sound I heard, 
Nought saw I, but the sullen low of elephant that sound appeared. 
The swift well-feathered arrow I upon the bowstring fitting straight. 
Towards the sound the shaft let fly, ah, cruelly deceived by fate ! 
The winged arrow scarce had flown, and scarce had reached its destined 

aim, 
' Ah me, I 'm slain,' a feeble moan in trembling human accents came. 
' Ah, whence hath come this fatal shaft against a poor recluse like me, 
Who shot that bolt with deadly craft, — alas ! what cruel man is he ? 
At the lone midnight had I come to draw the river's limpid flood. 
And here am struck to death, by whom ? ah whose this wrongful deed of 

blood ? 
Alas ! and in my parents' heart, the old, the blind, and hardly fed. 
In the wild wood, hath pierced the dart, that here hath struck their off- 
spring dead. 
Ah, deed most profitless as worst, a deed of wanton useless guilt : 
As though a pupil's hand accurs'd his holy master's blood had spilt. 
But not mine own untimely fate, —it is not that which I deplore. 
My blind, my aged parents' state — 't is their distress afflicts me more. 
That sightless pair, for many a day, from me their scanty food have earned ; 
What lot is theirs when I 'm away, to the five elements returned ? 
Alike, all wretched they, as I— ah, whose this triple deed of blood } 
For who the herbs will now supply, — the roots, the fruit, their blameless 

food ? ' 
My troubled soul, that plaintive moan no sooner heard, so faint and low, 
Trembled to look on what I 'd done, fell from my shuddering hand my 

bow. 
Swift I rushed up, I saw him there, heart-pierced, and fallen the stream 

beside, 
The hermit boy with knotted hair, — his clothing was the black deer's hide. 
On me most piteous turned his look, his wounded breast could scarce 

respire, 
And these the words, O queen, he spoke, as to consume me in his ire : 
' What wrong, O Kshatriya, have I done, to be thy deathful arrow's aim. 
The forest's solitary son, to draw the limpid stream I came. 
Both wretched and both blind they lie, in the wildwood all destitute, 
My parents, listening anxiously to hear my home-returning foot. 



THE STORY OF THE rAmAyANA. 25 

By this, thy fatal shaft, this one, three miserable victims fall, 

The sire, the mother, and the son — ah why ? and unoffending all. 

How vain my father's life austere, the Veda's studied page how vain, 

He knew not with prophetic fear his son would fall untimely slain. 

But had he known, to one as he, so weak, so blind, 't were bootless all, 

No tree can save another tree by the sharp hatchet marked to fall. 

But to my father's dwelling haste, O Raghu's son, lest in his ire 

Thy head with burning curse he blast, as the dry forest tree the fire. 

Thee to my father's lone retreat will quickly lead yon onward path, 

Oh, haste his pardon to entreat, or ere he curse thee m his wrath. 

Yet first that gently I may die, draw forth the barbed steel from hence, 

Allay thy fears, no Brahmin I, not thine of Brahmin blood the offence. 

My sire, a Brahmin hermit he, my mother was of Sudra race.' 

So spake the wounded boy, on me while turned his unreproaching face. 

As from his palpitating breast I gently drew the mortal dart, 

He saw me trembling stand, and blest that boy's pure spirit seemed to 

part. 
As died that holy hermit's son, from me my glory seemed to go. 
With troubled mind I stood, cast down t' inevitable endless woe. 
That shaft that seemed his life to burn like serpent venom, thus drawn 

out, 
I, taking up his fallen urn, t' his father's dwelling took my route. 
There miserable, blind, and old, of their sole helpmate thus forlorn, 
His parents did these eyes behold, like two sad birds with pinions shorn. 
Of him in fond discourse they sate, lone, thinking only of their son, 
For his return so long, so late, impatient, oh by me undone. 
My footsteps' sound he seemed to know, and thus the aged hermit said, 
' O Yajnadatta, why so slow } — haste, let the cooling draught be shed. 
Long on the river's cooling brink hast thou been sporting in thy joy. 
Thy mother's fainting spirits sink in fear for thee ; but thou, my boy. 
If aught to grieve thy gentle heart thy mother or thy sire do wrong, 
Bear with us, nor, when next we part, on the slow way thus linger long. 
The feet of those that cannot move, of those that cannot see the eye, 
Our spirits live but in thy love, — oh wherefore, dearest, no reply ? ' 

" My throat thick swollen with bursting tears, my power of speech that 
seemed to choke, 
With hands above my head, my fears breaking my quivering voice, I spoke : 
' The Kshatriya Dasaratha I, O hermit sage, 'tis not thy son ! 
Most holy ones, unknowingly a deed of awful guilt I 've done. 
Witli bow in hand I took my way along Sarayu's pleasant brink. 
The savage buffalo to slay, or elephant come down to drink. 

"'A sound came murmuring to my ear, — 'twas of the urn that slowly 
filled, 
I deemed some savage wild-beast near, — my erring shaft thy son had killed. 
A feeble groan I heard, his breast was pierced by that dire arrow keen : 
All trembling to the spot I pressed, lo there thy hermit boy was seen. 
Flew to the sound my arrow, meant the wandering elephant to slay. 
Toward the river brink it went, — and there thy son expiring lay. 
The fatal shaft when forth I drew, to heaven his parting spirit soared, 
Dying he only thought of you, long, long, your lonely lot deplored. 



26 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Thus ignorantly did I slay your child beloved, O hermit sage ! 

Turn thou on me, whose fated day is come, thy all-consuming rage ! ' 

He heard my dreadful tale at length, he stood all lifeless, motionless ; 

Then deep he groaned, and gathering strength, me the meek suppliant did 

address. 
* Kshatriya, 't is well that thou hast turned, thy deed of murder to rehearse, 
Else over all thy land had burned the fire of my wide-wasting curse. 
If with premeditated crime the unoffending blood thou 'dst spilt. 
The Thunderer on his throne sublime had shaken at such tremendous guilt. 
Against the anchorite's sacred head, hadst, knowing, aimed thy shaft 

accursed, 
In th' holy Vedas deeply read, thy skull in seven wide rents had burst. 
But since, unwitting, thou hast wrought that deed of death, thou livest still, 
O son of Taghu, from thy thought dismiss all dread of instant ill. 
Oh lead me to that doleful spot where my poor boy expiring lay, 
Beneath the shaft thy fell hand shot, of my blind age the staff, the stay. 
On the cold earth 'twere yet a joy to touch my perished child again, 
(So long if I may live) my boy in one last fond embrace to strain 
His body all bedewed with gore, his locks in loose disorder thrown. 
Let me, let her but touch once more, to the dread realm of Yama gone.* 
Then to that fatal place I brought alone that miserable pair ; 
His sightless hands and hers I taught to touch their boy that slumbered there. 
Nor sooner did they feel him lie, on the moist herbage coldly thrown. 
But with a shrill and feeble cry upon the body cast them down. 
The mother as she lay and groaned, addressed her boy with quivering 

tongue, 
And like a heifer sadly moaned, just plundered of her new-dropped young : 

" ' Was not thy mother once, my son, than life itself more dear to thee ? 
Why the long way thou hast begun, without one gentle word to me ? 
One last embrace, and then, beloved, upon thy lonely journey go ! 
Alas ! with anger art thou moved, that not a word thou wilt bestow ? ' 

" The miserable father now with gentle touch each cold limb pressed, 
And to the dead his words of woe, as to his living son addressed : 
' I too, my son, am I not here ? — thy sire with thy sad mother stands ; 
Awake, arise, my child, draw near, and clasp each neck with loving hands. 
Who now, 'neath the dark wood by night, a pious reader shall be heard t 
Whose honeyed voice my ear delight with th' holy Veda's living word ? 
The evening prayer, th' ablution done, the fire adored with worship meet, 
Who now shall soothe like thee, my son, with fondling hand, my aged 

feet .? 
And who the herb, the wholesome root, or wild fruit from the wood shall 

bring ? 
To us the bhnd, the destitute, with helpless hunger perishing ? 
Thy blind old mother, heaven-resigned, within our hermit-dwelling lone, 
How shall I tend, myself as bhnd, now all my strength of life is gone ? 
Oh, stay, my ciiild, oh, part not yet, to Yama's dwelling go not now, 
To-morrow forth we all will set, — thy mother and myself and thou : 
For both, in grief for thee, and both so helpless, ere another day. 
From this dark world, but little loath, shall we depart, death's easy prey I 
And I myself, by Yama's seat, companion of thy darksome way, 



THE STORY OF THE rAmAyANA. 27 

The guerdon to thy virtues meet from that great Judge of men will pray. 

Because, my boy, in innocence, by wicked deed thou hast been slain, 

Rise, where the heroes dwell, who thence ne'er stoop to this dark world 

again. 
Those that to earth return no more, the sense-subdued, the hermits wise, 
Priests their sage masters that adore, to their eternal seats arise. 
Those that have studied to the last the Veda's, the Vedanga's page. 
Where saintly kings of earth have passed, Nahusa and Yayati sage ; 
The sires of holy families, the true to wedlock's sacred vow ; 
And those that cattle, gold, or rice, or lands, with liberal hands bestow ; 
That ope th' asylum to th' oppressed, that ever love, and speak the truth ; 
Up to the dwellings of the blest, th' eternal, soar thou, best-loved youth. 
For none of such a holy race within the lowest seat may dwell ; 
But that will be his fatal place by whom my only offspring fell.' 

•' So groaning deep, that wretched pair, the hermit and his wife, essayed 
The meet ablution to prepare, their hands their last faint effort made. 
Divine, with glorious body bright, in splendid car of heaven elate, 
Before them stood their son in light, and thus consoled their helpless state: 
' Meed of my duteous filial care, I 've reached the wished for realms of joy ; 
And ye, in those glad realms, prepare to meet full soon your dear-loved 

boy. 
My parents, weep no more for me, yon warrior monarch slew me not, 
My death was thus ordained to be, predestined was the shaft he shot.' 
Thus as he spoke, the anchorite's son soared up the glowing heaven afar, 
In air his heavenly body shone, while stood he in his gorgeous car. 
But they, of that lost boy so dear the last ablution meetly made. 
Thus spoke to me that holy seer, with folded hands above his head. 
' Albeit by thy unknowing dart my blameless boy untimely fell, 
A curse I lay upon thy heart, whose fearful pain I know too well. 
As sorrowing for my son I bow, and yield up my unwilling breath. 
So, sorrowing for thy son shalt thou at life's last close repose in death.' 
That curse dread soundmg in mine ear, to mine own city forth I set. 
Nor long survived that hermit seer, to mourn his child in lone regret. 
This day that Brahmin curse fulfilled hath fallen on my devoted head, 
In anguish for my parted child have all my sinking spirits fled. 
No more my darkened eyes can see, my clouded memory is o'ercast. 
Dark Yama's heralds summon me to his deep, dreary realm to haste. 
Mine eye no more my Rama sees, and grief -o'erborne, my spirits sink. 
As the swoln stream sweeps down the trees that grow upon the crumbling 

brink. 
Oh, felt I Rama's touch, or spake one word his home-returning voice, 
Again to life I should awake, as quaffing nectar draughts, rejoice, 
But what so sad could e'er have been, celestial partner of my heart, 
As Rama's beauteous face unseen, from life untimely to depart? 
His exile in the forest o'er, him home returned to Oude's high town. 
Oh happy those, that see once more, like Indra from the sky come down. 
No mortal men, but gods I deem, — moonlike, before whose wondering sight 
My Rama's glorious face shall beam, from the dark forest bursting bright. 
Happy that gaze on Rama's face with beauteous teeth and smile of love, 
Like the blue lotus in its grace, and like the starry king above. 



28 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Like to the full autumnal moon, and like the lotus in its bloom, 

That youth who sees returning soon, — how blest shall be that mortal's doom." 

DweUing in that sweet memory, on his last bed the monarch lay. 

And slowly, softly seemed to die, as fades the moon at dawn away. 

" Ah, Rama ! ah, my son ! " thus said, or scarcely said, the king of men, 
His gentle hapless spirit fled in sorrow for his Rama then. 
The shepherd of his people old at midnight on his bed of death, 
The tale of his son's exile told, and breathed away his dying breath. 

Milman's Translation. 



THE MAHA-BHARATA. 

'•' It is a deep and noble forest, abounding in delicious fruits and fragrant 
flowers, shaded and watered by perennial springs." 

THOUGH parts of the Maha-Bharata, or story of the 
great war, are of great antiquity, the entire poem was 
undoubtedly collected and re-written in the first or second 
century a. d. Tradition ascribes the Maha-Bharata to the 
Brahman Krishna Dwaipayana Vyasa. 

The Maha-Bharata, unlike the Ramayana, is not the story 
of some great event, but consists of countless episodes, 
legends, and philosophical treatises, strung upon the thread 
of a single story. These episodes are called Upakhyanani, 
and the five most beautiful are called, in India, the five 
precious stones. 

Its historical basis is the strife between the Aryan invaders 
of India and the original inhabitants, illustrated in the strife 
between the sons of the Raja Pandu and the blind Raja, 
Dhrita-rashtra, which forms the main story of the poem. 

Though marred by the exaggerations peculiar to the 
Hindu, the poem is a great treasure house of Indian history, 
and from it the Indian poets, historical writers, and philoso- 
phers have drawn much of their material. 

The Maha-Bharata is written in the Sanskrit language ; it 
is the longest poem ever written, its eighteen cantos contain- 
ing two hundred thousand lines. 

It is held in even higher regard than the Ramayana, and 
the reading of it is supposed to confer upon the happy reader 
every good and perfect gift. 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Maha-Bharata. G. 
W. Cox's Mythology and Folklore, 1881, p. 313; John 



30 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



Dowson's Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology, Reli- 
gion, Geography, History, and Literature, 1879; F. Max 
Miiller's Ancient Sanskrit Literature, 1859 (Introduction) ; 
E. A. Reed's Hindu Literature, 1891, pp. 272-352 ; Albrecht 
Weber's History of Indian Literature, 1878, pp. 184-191 ; J. 
T. Wheeler's History of India, 4 vols., 1876, vol. ii. ; J. C. 
Oman's Great Indian Epics, 1874, pp. 87-231 ; T. Gold- 
stuecker's Hindu Epic Poetry; the Maha-Bharata (in his 
Literary Remains, 1879, ^o^- i^-j PP- S6-145) ; M. Macmillan's 
Globe-trotter in India, 18 15, p. 193 ; J. Peile's Notes on the 
Tales of Nala, 1882 ; C. J. Stone's Cradle-land of Arts and 
Creeds, 1880, pp. 36-49 ; H. H. Wilson's Introduction to the 
Maha-Bharata and a Translation of three Extracts (in his 
Works, vol. iii., p. 277); Westminster Review, 1868, vol. 
xxxiii., p. 380. 

Standard English Translations, the Maha-Bharata. 
The Maha-Bharata, Selections from the, Tr. by Sir Edwin 
Arnold, in his Indian Poetry, 1886; in his Indian Idylls, 
1883 ; Nala and Damayanti and other Poems, Tr. from 
the Maha-Bharata by H. H. Milman, 1834 (his translation 
of the Story of Nala is edited with notes by Monier 
Williams, 1879) ; Metrical translations from Sanskrit writers 
by John Muir, 1879, pp. 13-37 ; Last Days of Krishna, 
Tr. from the Maha-Bharata, by David Price (Oriental Trans- 
lation Fund : Miscellaneous Translations) ; The Maha- 
Bharata, an English Prose Translation with notes, by Protap 
Chandra Roy, Published in one hundred parts, 1883-1890; 
Asiatic Researches, Tr. by H. H. Wilson, from the Maha 
Bharata, vol. xv., p. loi ; Translations of episodes from 
the Maha-Bharata, in Scribner's Monthly, 1874, vol. "vii., 
p. 385 ; International Review, vol. x., pp. 36, 297 ; Oriental 
Magazine, Dec, 1824, March, Sept., 1825, Sept., 1826. 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHArATA. 31 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHARATA. 



Long ago there dwelt in India two great Rajas who 
were brothers, the Raja Pandu and the blind Raja, Dhrita- 
rashtra. The former had five noble sons called the Pan- 
davas, the eldest of whom was Yudhi-sthira, the second 
Bhima, the third Arjuna, and the youngest, twin sons, 
Nakalu and Sahadeva. All were gifted in every way, but 
Arjuna was especially noble in form and feature. 

The blind Raja had a family of one hundred sons, called 
the Kauravas from their ancestor, Kura. The oldest of these 
was Duryodhana, and the bravest, Dhusasana. 

Before the birth of Pandu's sons, he had left his kingdom 
in charge of Dhrita-rashtra, that he might spend his time in 
hunting in the forests on the slopes of the Himalayas. After 
his death Dhrita-rashtra continued to rule the kingdom; but 
on account of their claim to the throne, he invited the Pan- 
davas and their mother to his court, where they were 
trained, together with his sons, in every knightly exercise. 

There was probably jealousy between the cousins from the 
beginning, and when their teacher, Drona, openly expressed 
his pride in the wonderful archery of Arjuna, the hatred of 
the Kauravas was made manifest. No disturbance occurred, 
however, until the day when Drona made a public tourna- 
ment to display the prowess of his pupils. 

The contests were in archery and the use of the noose and 
of clubs. Bhima, who had been endowed by the serpent 
king with the strength of ten thousand elephants, especially 
excelled in the use of the club, Nakalu was most skillful in 
taming and driving the horse, and the others in the use of 
the sword and spear. When Arjuna made use of the bow 
and the noose the plaudits with which the spectators greeted 
his skill so enraged the Kauravas that they turned the con- 
test of clubs, which was to have been a friendly one, into a 
degrading and blood-shedding battle. The spectators left 



32 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



the splendid lists in sorrow, and the blind Raja determined 
to separate the unfriendly cousins before further harm could 
come from their rivalry. 

Before this could be done, another event increased their 
hostility. Drona had agreed to impart to the Kauravas and 
the Pandavas his skill in warfare, on condition that they 
would conquer for him his old enemy, the Raja of Panchala. 
On account of their quarrel the cousins would not fight to- 
gether, and the Kauravas, marching against the Raja, were 
defeated. On their return, the Pandavas went to Panchala, 
and took the Raja prisoner. 

After Yudhi-sthira had been appointed Yuva-Raja, a step 
Dhrita-rashtra was compelled by the people of Hastinapur to 
take, the Kauravas declared that they could no longer remain 
in the same city with their cousins. 

A plot was laid to destroy the Pandavas, the Raja's con- 
science having been quieted by the assurances of his Brah- 
man counsellor that it was entirely proper to slay one's foe, 
be he father, brother, or friend, openly or by secret means. 
The Raja accordingly pretended to send his nephews on a 
pleasure-trip to a distant province, where he had prepared for 
their reception a " house of lac," rendered more combustible 
by soaking in clarified butter, in which he had arranged to 
have them burned as if by accident, as soon as possible after 
their arrival. 

All Hastinapur mourned at the departure of the Pandavas, 
and the princes themselves were sad, for they had been 
warned by a friend that Dhrita-rashtra had plotted for their 
destruction. They took up their abode in the house of lac, 
to which they prudently constructed a subterranean out- 
let, and one evening, when a woman with five sons attended 
a feast of their mother's, uninvited, and fell into a drunken 
sleep, they made fast the doors, set fire to the house, and 
escaped to the forest. The bodies of the five men and 
their mother were found next day, and the assurance was 
borne to Hastinapur that the Pandavas and their mother 
Kunti had perished by fire. 

The five princes, with their mother, disguised as Brahraans, 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHArATA. 33 

spent several years wandering through the forests, having 
many strange adventures and slaying many demons. While 
visiting Ekachakra, which city they freed from a frightful 
rakshasa, they were informed by the sage Vyasa that Drau- 
padi, the lovely daughter of the Raja Draupada of Panchala, 
was going to hold a Svayamvara in order to select a husband. 
The suitors of a princess frequently attended a meeting of 
this sort and took part in various athletic contests, at the 
end of which the princess signified who was most pleasing 
to her, usually the victor in the games, by hanging around 
his neck a garland of flowers. 

Vyasa's description of the lovely princess, whose black 
eyes were large as lotus leaves, whose skin was dusky, and . 
her locks dark and curling, so excited the curiosity of the 
Pandavas that they determined to attend the Svayamvara. 
They found the city full of princes and kings who had come 
to take part in the contest for the most beautiful woman in 
the world. The great amphitheatre in which the games were 
to take place was surrounded by gold and jewelled palaces 
for the accommodation of the princes, and with platforms for 
the convenience of the spectators. 

After music, dancing, and various entertainments, which 
occupied sixteen days, the contest of skill began. On the 
top of a tall pole, erected in the plain, was placed a golden 
fish, below which revolved a large wheel. He who sent his 
arrow through the spokes of the wheel and pierced the eye 
of the golden fish was to be the accepted suitor of Draupadi. 

When the princes saw the difficulty of the contest, many 
of them refused to enter it ; as many tried it only to fail, 
among them, the Kaurava Duryodhana. At last Arjuna, 
still in his disguise, stepped forward, drew his bow, and sent 
his arrow through the wheel into the eye of the golden fish. 

Immediately a great uproar arose among the spectators 
because a Brahman had entered a contest limited to members 
of the Kshatriya, or warrior class. In the struggle which 
ensued, however, Arjuna, assisted by his brothers, especially 
Bhima, succeeded in carrying off the princess, whose father 
did not demur. 

3 



34 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



When the princes returned to their hut they went into 
the inner room and informed their mother that they had 
brought home a prize. Supposing that it was some game, 
she told them it would be well to share it equally. The 
mother's word was law, but would the gods permit them to 
share Draupadi ? Their troubled minds were set at rest by 
Vyasa, who assured them that Draupadi had five different 
times in former existences besought Siva for a good husband. 
He had refused her requests then, but would now allow her 
five husbands at once. The princes were well satisfied, and 
when the Raja Draupada learned that the Brahmans were 
great princes in disguise, he caused the five weddings to be 
celebrated in great state. 

Not satisfied with this, the Raja at once endeavored to 
make peace between the Pandavas and their hostile cousins, 
and succeeded far enough to induce Dhrita-rashtra to cede 
to his nephews a tract of land in the farthest part of his 
kingdom, on the river Jumna, where they set about founding 
a most splendid city, Indra-prastha. 

Here they lived happily with Draupadi, conquering so 
many kingdoms and accumulating so much wealth that they 
once more aroused the jealousy of their old enemies, the 
Kauravas. The latter, knowing that it would be impossible 
to gain the advantage of them by fair means, determined to 
conquer them by artifice, and accordingly erected a large 
and magnificent hall and invited their cousins thither, with 
a great show of friendliness, to a gambling match. 

The Pandavas knew they would not be treated fairly, but 
as such an invitation could not be honorably declined by a 
Kshatriya, they went to Hastinapur. Yudhi-sthira's oppo- 
nent was Shakuni, the queen's brother, an unprincipled man, 
by whom he was defeated in every game. 

Yudhi-sthira staked successively his money, his jewels, and 
his slaves ; and when these were exhausted, he continued to 
play, staking his kingdom, his brothers, and last of all his 
peerless wife, Draupadi. 

At this point, when the excitement was intense, the brutal 
Dhusasana commanded Draupadi to be brought into the hall, 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHArATA. 35 

and insulted her in every way, to the great rage of the help- 
less Pandavas, until Dhrita-rashtra, affrighted by the evil 
omens by which the gods signified their disapproval, rebuked 
Dhusasana for his conduct, and giving Draupadi her wish, 
released her husbands and herself and sent them back to 
their kingdom. 

To prevent the Pandavas from gaining time to avenge 
their insult, the Kauravas induced their father to invite their 
cousins to court to play a final game, this time the conditions 
being that the losing party should go into exile for thirteen 
years, spending twelve years in the forest and the thirteenth 
in some city. If their disguise was penetrated by their 
enemies during the thirteenth year, the exile was to be ex- 
tended for another thirteen years. 

Though they knew the outcome, the Pandavas accepted 
the second invitation, and in consequence again sought the 
forest, not departing without the most terrible threats against 
their cousins. 

In the forest of Kamyaka, Yudhi-sthira studied the science 
of dice that he might not again be defeated so disastrously, 
and journeyed pleasantly from one point of interest to an- 
other with Draupadi and his brothers, with the exception of 
Arjuna, who had sought the Himalayas to gain favor with the 
god Siva, that he might procure from him a terrible weapon 
for the destruction of his cousins. 

After he had obtained the weapon he was lifted into the 
heaven of the god Indra, where he spent five happy years. 
When he rejoined his wife and brothers, they were visited by 
the god Krishna and by the sage Markandeya, who told 
them the story of the creation and destruction of the uni- 
verse, of the flood, and of the doctrine of Karma, which in- 
structs one that man's sufferings here below are due to his 
actions in former and forgotten existences. He also related 
to them the beautiful story of how the Princess Savitri had 
wedded the Prince Satyavan, knowing that the gods had de- 
creed that he should die within a year ; how on the day set 
for his death she had accompanied him to the forest, had 
there followed Yama, the awful god of death, entreating him 



36 NATIONAL EPICS. 

until, for very pity of her sorrow and admiration of her 
courage and devotion, he yielded to her her husband's 
soul. 

Near the close of the twelfth year of their exile, the princes, 
fatigued from a hunt, sent Nakalu to get some water from a 
lake which one had discovered from a tree-top. As the prince 
approached the lake he was warned by a voice not to touch 
it, but thirst overcoming fear, he drank and fell dead. The 
same penalty was paid by Sahadeva, Arjana, and Bhima, who 
in turn followed him. Yudhi-sthira, who went last, obeyed 
the voice, which, assuming a terrible form, asked the king 
questions on many subjects concerning the universe. These 
being answered satisfactorily, the being declared himself to 
be Dharma, the god of justice, Yudhi-sthira's father, and in 
token of his affection for his son, restored the princes to life, 
and granted them the boon of being unrecognizable during 
the remaining year of their exile. 

The thirteenth year of their exile they spent in the city of 
Virata, where they entered the service of the Raja, — Yudhi- 
sthira as teacher of dice-playing, Bhima as superintendent of 
the cooks, Arjuna as a teacher of music and dancing to the 
ladies, Nakalu as master of horse, and Sahadeva as superin- 
tendent of the cattle. Draupadi, who entered the service of 
the queen, was so attractive, even in disguise, that Bhima 
was forced to kill the queen's brother, Kechaka, for insulting 
her. This would have caused the Pandavas' exile from 
Virata had not their services been needed in a battle between 
Virata and the king of the Trigartas. 

The Kauravas assisted the Trigartas in this battle, and the 
recognition, among the victors, of their cousins, whose thir- 
teenth year of exile was now ended, added to the bitterness 
of their defeat. 

Their exile over, the Pandavas were free to make prepara- 
tions for the great war which they had determined to wage 
against the Kauravas. Both parties, anxious to enlist the 
services of Krishna, sent envoys to him at the same time. 
When Krishna gave them the choice of himself or his armies, 
Arjuna was shrewd enough to choose the god, leaving his 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHArATA. 37 

hundreds of millions of soldiers to swell the forces of the 
Kauravas. 

When their preparations were completed, and the time 
had come to wreak vengeance on their cousins, the Pandavas 
were loath to begin the conflict. They seemed to under- 
stand that, war once declared, there could be no compromise, 
but that it must be a war for extinction. But the Kauravas 
received their proposals of peace with taunts, and heaped 
insults upon their emissary. 

When the Pandavas found that there was no hope of 
peace, they endeavored to win to their side Kama, who was 
really a son of Kunti, and hence their half-brother, though 
this fact had not been made known to him until he had long 
been allied with the Kauravas. In anticipation of this war, 
the gods, by a bit of trickery, had robbed Kama of his god- 
given armor and weapons. However, neither celestial arti- 
fice, the arguments of Krishna, nor the entreaties of Kunti 
were able to move Kama from what he considered the path 
of duty, though he promised that while he would fight with 
all his strength, he would not slay Yudhi-sthira, Bhima, and 
the twins. 

The forces of the two armies were drawn up on the plain 
of Kuruk-shetra. The army of the Kauravas was under the 
command of the terrible Bhishma, the uncle of Pandu and 
Dhrita-rashtra, who had governed the country during the 
minority of Pandu. 

Each side was provided with billions and billions of in- 
fantry, cavalry, and elephants ; the warriors were supplied 
with weapons of the most dangerous sort. The army of the 
Kauravas was surrounded by a deep trench fortified by 
towers, and further protected by fireballs and jars full of 
scorpions to be thrown at the assailants. 

As night fell, before the battle, the moon's face was stained 
with blood, earthquakes shook the land, and the images of 
the gods fell from their places. 

The next morning, when Arjuna, from his chariot, beheld 
the immense army, he was appalled at the thought of the 
bloodshed to follow, and hesitated to advance. Krishna in- 



38 NATIONAL EPICS. 

sisted that it was unnecessary for him to lament, setting forth 
his reasons in wliat is known as the Bhagavat-gita, the divine 
song, in which he said it was no sin to slay a foe, since death 
is but a transmigration from one form to another. The soul 
can never cease to be ; who then can destroy it ? There- 
fore, when Arjuna slew his cousins he would merely remove 
their offensive bodies ; their souls, unable to be destroyed, 
would seek other habitations. To further impress Arjuna 
Krishna boasted of himself as embodying everything, and as 
having passed through many forms. Faith in Krishna was 
indispensable, for the god placed faith above either works or 
contemplation. He next exhibited himself in his divine 
form to Arjuna, and the warrior was horror-stricken at the 
terrible divinity with countless arms, hands, and heads, touch- 
ing the skies. Having been thus instructed by Krishna, 
Arjuna went forth, and the eighteen days' battle began. 

The slaughter was wholesale ) no quarter was asked or 
given, since each side was determined to exterminate the 
other. Flights of arrows were stopped in mid-air by flights 
of arrows from the other side. Great maces were cut in 
pieces by well-directed darts. Bhima, wielding his great 
club with his prodigious strength, wiped out thousands of the 
enemy at one stroke, and Arjuna did the same with his swift 
arrows. Nor were the Kauravas to be despised. Hundreds 
of thousands of the Pandavas' followers fell, and the heroic 
brothers were themselves struck by many arrows. 

Early in the battle the old Bhishma was pierced by so 
many arrows that, falling from his chariot, he rested upon 
their points as on a couch, and lay there living by his own 
desire, until long after the battle. 

After eighteen days of slaughter, during which the field 
reeked with blood and night was made horrible by the cries 
of the jackals and other beasts of prey that devoured the 
bodies of the dead, the Kauravas were all slain, and the five 
Pandavas, reconciled to the blind Raja, accompanied him 
back to Hastinapur, where Yudhi-sthira was crowned Raja, 
although the Raj was still nominally under the rule of his 
old uncle. 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHArATA. 39 

Yudhi-sthira celebrated his accession to the throne by the 
performance of the great sacrifice, which was celebrated with 
the .utmost splendor. After several years the unhappy 
Dhrita-rashtra retired with his wife to a jungle on the banks 
of the Ganges, leaving Yudhi-sthira in possession of the 
kingdom. There the Pandavas visited him, and talked over 
the friends who had fallen in the great war. One evening 
the sage Vyasa instructed them to bathe in the Ganges and 
then stand on the banks of the river. He then went into the 
water and prayed, and coming out stood by Yudhi-sthira and 
called the names of all those persons who had been sl^in at 
Kuruk-shetra. Immediately the water began to foam and 
boil, and to the great surprise and terror of all, the warriors 
lost in the great batde appeared in their chariots, at perfect 
peace with one another, and cleansed of all earthly stain. 
Then the living were happy with the dead ; long separated 
families were once more united, and the hearts that had been 
desolate for fifteen long years were again filled with joy. 
The night sped quickly by in tender conversation, and when 
morning came, all the dead mounted into their chariots and 
disappeared. Those who had come to meet them prepared 
to leave the river, but with the permission of Vyasa, the 
widows drowned themselves that they might rejoin their 
husbands. 

Not long after his return to Hastinapur, Yudhi-sthira 
heard that the old Raja and his wife had lost their lives in a 
jungle-fire ; and soon after this, tidings came to him of the 
destruction of the city of the Yadavas, the capital of Krishna, 
in punishment for the dissipation of its inhabitants. 

Yudhi-sthira's reign of thirty-six years had been a succes- 
sion of gloomy events, and he began to grow weary of earth 
and to long for the blessings promised above. He therefore 
determined to make the long and weary pilgrimage to 
Heaven without waiting for death. According to the Maha- 
Bharata, the earth was divided into seven concentric rings, 
each of which was surrounded by an ocean or belt separating 
it from the next annular continent. The first ocean was of 
salt water ; the second, of the juice of the sugar-cane ; the 



40 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



third, of wine ; the fourth, of clarified butter ; the fifth, of 
curdled milk ; the sixth, of sweet milk ; the seventh, of fresh 
water. In the centre of this vast annular system Mount 
Meru rose to the height of sixty-four thousand miles. 

Upon this mountain was supposed to rest the heaven of 
the Hindus, and thither Yudhi-sthira proposed to make his 
pilgrimage. His brothers and their wife Draupadi insisted on 
going with him, for all were equally weary of the world. Their 
people would fain have accompanied them, but the princes 
sent them back and went unaccompanied save by their faith- 
ful dog. They kept on, fired by their high resolves, until 
they reached the long and dreary waste of sand that stretched 
before Mount Meru. There Draupadi fell and yielded up 
her life, and Yudhi-sthira, never turning to look back, told 
the questioning Bhima that she died because she loved her 
husbands better than all else, better than heaven. Next 
Sahadeva fell, then Nakalu, and afterwards Arjuna and 
Bhima. Yudhi-sthira, still striding on, informed Bhima that 
pride had slain the first, self-love the second, the sin of 
Arjuna was a lie, and Bhima had loved too well the good 
things of earth. 

Followed by the dog, Yudhi-sthira pushed across the 
barren sand until he reached the mount and stood in the 
presence of the god. Well pleased with his perseverance, 
the god promised him the reward of entering into heaven in 
his own form, but he refused to go unless the dog could 
accompany him. After vainly attempting to dissuade him, 
the god allowed the dog to assume its proper form, and lo ! 
it was Dharma, the god of justice, and the two entered 
heaven together. 

But where were Draupadi and the gallant princes, her 
husbands? Yudhi-sthira could see them nowhere, and he 
questioned only to learn that they were in hell. His deter- 
mination was quickly taken. There could be no heaven for 
him unless his brothers and their wife could share it with 
him. He demanded to be shown the path to hell, to enter 
which he walked over razors, and trod under foot mangled 
human forms. But joy of joys ! The lotus-eyed Draupadi 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHARATA. 41 

called to him, and his brothers cried that his presence in hell 
brought a soothing breeze that gave relief to all the tortured 
souls. 

Yudhi-sthira's self-sacrifice sufficiently tested, the gods 
proclaimed that it was all but an illusion shown to make him 
enjoy the more, by contrast, the blisses of heaven. The 
king Yudhi-sthira then bathed in the great river flowing 
through three worlds, and, washed from all sins and soils, 
went up, hand in hand with the gods, to his brothers, the 
Pandavas, and 

" Lotus-eyed and loveliest Draupadi, 
Waiting to greet him, gladdening and glad." 



SELECTIONS FROM THE MAHA-BHARATA. 

SAviTRt, OR Love and Death. 

The beautiful princess Savitri of her own choice wedded the 
prince Satyavan, son of a blind and exiled king, although she 
knew that he was doomed by the gods to die within a year. 
When the year was almost gone, she sat for several days be- 
neath a great tree, abstaining from food and drink, and implor- 
ing the gods to save him from death. On the fateful day she 
accompanied him to the forest to gather the sacred wood for the 
evening sacrifice. As he struck the tree with the axe he reeled 
in pain, and exclaiming, " I cannot work! " fell fainting. 

Thereon that noble lady, hastening near. 
Stayed him that would have fallen, with quick arms ; 
And, sitting on the earth, laid her lord's head 
Tenderly in her lap. So bent she, mute. 
Fanning his face, and thinking 't was the day — 
The hour — which Narad named — the sure fixed date 
Of dreadful end — when, lo ! before her rose 
A shade majestic. Red his garments were, 
His body vast and dark; like fiery suns 
The eyes which burned beneath his forehead-cloth ; 
Armed was he with a noose, awful of mien. 
This Form tremendous stood by Satyavan, 
Fixing its gaze upon him. At the sight 
The fearful Princess started to her feet. 
Heedfully laying on the grass his head, 



42 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

Up started she. with beating heart, and joined 
Her pahns for supplication, and spake thus 
In accents tremulous : " Thou seem'st some God ; 
Thy mien is more than mortal ; make me know 
What god thou art, and what thy purpose here." 

And Yama said (the dreadful god of death): 
" Thou art a faithful wife, O Savitri, 
True to thy vows, pious, and dutiful ; 
Therefore I answer thee, Yama I am \ 
This Prince thy lord lieth at point to die ; 
Him will I straightway bind and bear from life ; 
This is my office, and for this I come." 

Then Savitri spake sadly : " It is taught 
Thy messengers are sent to fetch the dying ; 
Why is it, Mightiest, thou art come thyself ? " 

In pity of her love, the Pityless 
Answered — the King of all the Dead replied : 
" This was a Prince unparalleled, thy lord; 
Virtuous as fair, a sea of goodly gifts, 
Not to be summoned by a meaner voice 
Than Yama's own : therefore is Yama come." 

With that the gloomy God fitted his noose 
And forced forth from the Prince the soul of him — 
Subtile, a thumb in length — which being reft. 
Breath stayed, blood stopped, the body's grace was gone, 
And all life's warmth to stony coldness turned. 
Then, binding it, the Silent Presence bore 
Satyavan's soul away toward the South. 

But Savitri the Princess followed him ; 
Being so bold in wifely purity. 
So holy by her love ; and so upheld. 
She followed him. 

Presently Yama turned. 
*' Go back," quoth he, " Pay for him funeral dues. 
Enough, O Savitri, is wrought for love ; 
Go back ! Too far already hast thou come." 

Then Savitri made answer : "I must go 
Where my lord goes, or where my lord is borne ; 
Naught other is my duty. Nay, I think, 
By reason of my vows, my services, 
Done to the Gurus, and my faultless love. 
Grant but thy grace, I shall unhindered go. 
The sages teach that to walk seven steps 
One with another, maketh good men friends ; 
Beseech thee, let me say a verse to thee : — 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHArATA. 43 

" Be master of thyself, if thou wilt be 
Servant of Duty. Such as thou shalt see 
Not self-subduing, do no deeds of good 
In youth or age, in household or in wood. 
But wise men know that virtue is best bliss, 
And all by sotne one way may reach to this. 
It needs not men should pass through orders four 
To come to knowledge : doing right is more 
Than any learning; therefore sages say 
Best and most excellent is Virtue'' s way.'''' 

Spake Yama then : " Return ! yet I am moved 
By those soft words ; justly their accents fell, 
And sweet and reasonable was their sense. 
See now, thou faultless one. Except this life 
I bear away, ask any boon from me ; 
It shall not be denied." 

Sivitri said : 
" Let, then, the King, my husband's father, have 
His eyesight back, and be his strength restored, 
And let him live anew, strong as the sun." 

" I give this gift," Yama replied. " Thy wish, 
Blameless, shall be fulfilled. But now go back ; 
Already art thou wearied, and our road 
Is hard and long. Turn back, lest thou, too, die." 

The Princess answered : " Weary am I not, 
So I walk near my lord. Where he is borne, 
Thither wend I. Most mighty of the Gods, 
I follow wheresoe'er thou takest him. 
A verse is writ on this, if thou wouldst hear : — 

" There is naught better than to be 
"With noble souls in company : 
There is naught better than to wend 
With good friends faithful to the end. 
This is the love whose fruit is sweet, 
Therefore to bide within is meet.'''' 

Spake Yama, smiling : " Beautiful ! thy words 
Delight me ; they are excellent, and teach 
Wisdom unto the wise, singing soft truth. 
Look, now ! Except the life of Satyavan, 
Ask yet another — any — boon from me." 

Savitri said: " Let, then, the pious King, 
My husband's father, who hath lost his throne, 
Have back the Raj ; and let him rule his realm 
In happy righteousness. This boon I ask." 



44 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

" He shall have back the throne," Yama replied, 
" And he shall reign in righteousness : these things 
Will surely fall. But thou, gaining thy wish, 
Return anon ; so shalt thou 'scape sore ill." 

"Ah, awful God! who hold'st the world in leash," 
The Princess said, " restraining evil men, 
And leading good men — even unconscious — there, 
Where they attain, hear yet those famous words : — 

" The constant virtues of the good are tenderness and love 
To all that lives — in earthy air, sea — great, small — be- 

lotv, above ; 
Compassionate of heart, they keep a gentle thought for each, 
Kind in their actions, mild in will, and pitiful of speech ; 
Who pitieth not, he hath not faith ; full ma^ty an one so lives, 
But when an enemy seeks help, a good man gladly gives. ''^ 

" As water to the thirsty," Yama said, 
" Princess, thy words melodious are to me. 
Except the life of Satyavan, thy lord, 
Ask one boon yet again, for I will grant." 

Answer made Savitri : " The King, my sire, 
Hath no male child. Let him see many sons 
Begotten of his body, who may keep 
The royal line long regnant. This I ask." 

" So shall it be," the Lord of Death replied; 
" A hundred fair preservers of his race 
Thy sire shall boast. But this wish being won, 
Return, dear Princess ; thou hast come too far." 

" It is not far for me," quoth Savitri, 
" Since I am near my husband ; nay, my heart 
Is set to go as far as to the end ; 
But hear these other verses, if thou wilt : — 



^'' By that sunlit name thou bearest. 
Thou, Vaivaswata ! art dearest ; 
Those that as their Lord proclaim thee. 
King of Righteousness do natjie thee: 
Better than themselves the wise 
Trust the righteous. Each relies 
Most upon the good, and makes 
Frieiidship with them. Friendship takes 
Fear from hearts ; yet friends betray, 
In good men we may trust alway.'" 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHARATA. 

"Sweet lady," Yama said, "never were words 
Spoke better ; never truer heard by ear ; 
Lo ! I am pleased with thee. Except this soul, 
Ask one gift yet again, and get thee home." 

" I ask thee then," quickly the Princess cried, 
" Sons, many sons, born of my body ; boys ; 
Satyavan's children ; lovely, valiant, strong ; 
Continuers of their line. Grant this, kind God." 

" I grant it," Yama answered; " thou shalt bear 
These sons thy heart desireth, valiant, strong. 
Therefore go back, that years be given thee. 
Too long a path thou treadest, dark and rough." 

But sweeter than before, the Princess sang : — 

" hi paths of peace and virtue 

Always the good remain ; 

And sorrow shall not stay with them, 

Nor long a ccess of pain ; 

At meeting or at parting 

Joys to their bosom strike ; 

For good to good is friendly^ 

And virtue loves her like. 

The great sun goes his journey 

By their strong truth impelled ; 

By their pure lives and pe7iances 

Is earth itself upheld ; 

Of all which live and shall live 

Upon its hills and fields, 

Pure hearts are the protectors, 

For virtue saves and shields. 

" Never are noble spirits 
Poor while their like survive ; 
True love has gems to render. 
And virtue wealth to give. 
Never is lost or wasted 
The goodjiess of the good ; 
Never against a m.ercy, 
Agai7ist a right, it stood ; 
And seeing this, that virtue 
Is always friend to all, 
The vij-iuous and true-hearted, 
Meji their protectors call.'''' 

" Line for line. Princess, as thou sangest so," 
Quoth Yama, " all that lovely praise of good. 
Grateful to hallowed minds, lofty in sound, 



45 



46 NATIONAL EPICS. 

And couched in dulcet numbers — word by word — 
Dearer thou grew'st to me. O thou great heart, 
Perfect and firm ! ask any boon from me, — 
Ask an incomparable boon ! " 

She cried 
Swiftly, no longer stayed : '• Not Heaven I crave. 
Nor heavenly joys, nor bliss incomparable, 
Hard to be granted, even by thee ; but him. 
My sweet lord's life, without which I am dead ; 
Give me that gift of gifts ! I will not take 
Aught less without him, — not one boon — no praise, 
No splendors, no rewards, — not even those sons 
Whom thou didst promise. Ah, thou wilt not now 
Bear hence the father of them and my hope ! 
Make thy free word good ; give me Satyavan 
Alive once more." 

And thereupon the God — 
The Lord of Justice, high Vaivaswata — 
Loosened the noose and freed the Prince's soul, 
And gave it to the lady, saying this, 
With eyes grown tender : " See, thou sweetest queen 
Of women, brightest jewel of thy kind ! 
Here is thy husband. He shall live and reign 
Side by side with thee, saved by thee, — in peace 
And fame and wealth, and health, many long years, 
For pious sacrifices world-renowned. 
Boys shalt thou bear to him, as I did grant, — 
Kshatriya kings, fathers of kings to be, 
Sustainers of thy line. Also thy sire 
Shall see his name upheld by sons of sons, 
Like the immortals, valiant, Malavas." 

Arnold : Indian Idylls. 



From "the Great Journey." 

The shadow of the Great War hung over King Yudhi-sthira, 
whose reign was one long succession of gloomy events, culmi- 
nating in the death of the blind Raja and his wife in a jungle fire, 
and the destruction of the capital city of Krishna because of the 
dissipation of its inhabitants. 

On tidings of the wreck of Vrishni's race, 
King Yudhi-sthira of the Pandavas 
Was minded to be done with earthly things, 
And to Arjuna spake : " O noble prince, 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHArATA. 47 

Time endeth all ; we linger, noose on neck, 

Till the last day tightens the line, and kills. 

Let us go forth to die, being yet alive." 

And Kunti's son, the great Arjuna, said : 

" Let us go forth ! Time slayeth all. 

We will find Death, who seeketh other men." 

And Bhimasena, hearing, answered : " Yea, 

We will find Death ! " and Sahadev cried : " Yea ! " 

And his twin brother Nakalu ; whereat 

The princes set their faces for the Mount. 



So ordering ere he went, the righteous King 
Made offering of white water, heedfuUy, 
To Vasudev, to Rama, and the rest, — 
All funeral rites performing ; next he spread 
A funeral feast. . . . 

And all the people cried, " Stay with us. Lord ! '* 
But Yudhi-sthira knew his time was come. 
Knew that life passes and that virtue lasts. 
And put aside their love. . . . 

So, with farewells 
Tenderly took of lieges and of lords, 
Girt he for travel with his princely kin. 
Great Yudhi-sthira, Dharma's royal son. 
Crest-gem and belt and ornaments he stripped 
From off his body, and for broidered robe 
A rough dress donned, woven of jungle bark ; 
And what he did — O Lord of men ! — so did 
Arjuna, Bhima, and the twin-born pair, 
Nakalu with Sahadev, and she, — in grace 
The peerless, — Draupadi. Lastly those six, — 
Thou son of Bharata ! — in solemn form 
Made the high sacrifice of Naishtiki, 
Quenching their flames in water at the close ; 
And so set forth, midst wailing of all folk 
And tears of women, weeping most to see 
The Princess Draupadi — that lovely prize 
Of the great gaming, Draupadi the Bright — 
Journeying afoot ; but she and all the five 
Rejoiced because their way lay heavenward. 

Seven were they, setting forth, — Princess and King, 
The King's four brothers and a faithful dog. 
Those left Hastinapur; but many a man. 
And all the palace household, followed them 
The first sad stage : and ofttimes prayed to part, 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

Put parting off for love and pity, still 
Sighing, "A little farther! " till day waned; 
Then one by one they turned. 



Thus wended they, 
Pandu's five sons and loveliest Draupadi, 
Taking no meat and journeying due east, 
On righteousness their high hearts fed, to heaven 
Their souls assigned; and steadfast trod their feet- 
By faith upborne — past nullah ran, and wood, 
River and jheel and plain. King Yudhi-sthir 
Walked foremost, Bhima followed, after him 
Arjuna, and the twin-born brethren next, 
Nakalu with Sahadev ; in whose still steps — 
O Best of Bharat's offspring! — Draupadi, 
That gem of women paced, with soft dark face, — 
Clear-edged like lotus petals ; last the dog 
Following the Pandavas. 



While yet those heroes walked, 
Now to the northward bending, where long coasts 
Shut in the sea of salt, now to the north. 
Accomplishing all quarters, journeyed they ; 
The earth their altar of high sacrifice. 
Which these most patient feet did pace around 
Till Meru rose. 

At last it rose 1 These Six, 
Their senses subjugate, their spirits pure, 
Wending along, came into sight — far off 
In the eastern sky — of awful Himavat ; 
And midway in the peaks of Himavat, 
Meru, the mountain of all mountains, rose. 
Whose head is heaven ; and under Himavat 
Glared a wide waste of sand, dreadful as death. 

Then, as they hastened o'er the deathly waste, 

Aiming for Meru, having thoughts at soul 

Infinite, eager, — lo ! Draupadi reeled, 

With faltering heart and feet ; and Bhima turned, 

Gazing upon her ; and that hero spake 

To Yudhi-sthira : " Master, Brother. King I 

Why doth she fail ? For never all her life 

Wrought our sweet lady one thing wrong, I think. 

Thou knowest ; make us know, why hath she failed ? " 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHArATA. 49 

Then Yudhi-sthira answered : " Yea, one thing. 
She loved our brothers better than all else, — 
Better than Heaven : that was her tender sin, 
Fault of a faultless soul : she pays for that." 

So spake the monarch, turning not his eyes. 
Though Draupadi lay dead, — striding straight on 
For Meru, heart-full of the things of Heaven, 
Perfect and firm. But yet a little space 
And Sahadev fell down ; which Bhima seeing. 
Cried once again : " O King, great Madri's son 
Stumbles and sinks. Why hath he sunk ? — so true, 
So brave and steadfast, and so free from pride !" 

" He was not free," with countenance still fixed, 
Quoth Yudhi-sthira ; " he was true and fast 
And wise ; yet wisdom made him proud ; he hid 
One little hurt of soul, but now it kills." 

So saying, he strode on, Kunti's strong son. 
And Bhima ; and Arjuna followed him. 
And Nakalu and the hound ; leaving behind 
Sahadev in the sands. But Nakalu, 
Weakened and grieved to see Sahadev fall — 
His dear-loved brother — lagged and stayed ; and then 
Prone on his face he fell, that noble face 
Which had no match for beauty in the land, — 
Glorious and godlike Nakalu ! Then sighed 
Bhima anew : " Brother and Lord ! the man 
Who never erred from virtue, never broke 
Our fellowship, and never in the world 
Was matched for goodly perfectness of form 
Or gracious feature, — Nakalu has fallen ! " 

But Yudhi-sthira, holding fixed his eyes, — 
That changeless, faithful, all-wise king, — replied: 
"Yea, but he erred ! The god-like form he wore 
Beguiled him to believe none like to him. 
And he alone desirable, and things 
Unlovely, to be slighted. Self-love slays 
Our noble brother. Bhima, follow ! Each 
Pays what his debt was." 

Which Arjuna heard, 
Weeping to see them fall ; and that stout son 
Of Pandu, that destroyer of his foes. 
That Prince, who drove through crimson waves of war, 
In old days, with his milk-white chariot-steeds, 
Him, the arch hero, sank ! Beholding this, — 
The yielding of that soul unconquerable, 
4 



50 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

Fearless, divine, from Sakra's self derived, 
Arjuna's, — Bhima cried aloud : " O King ! 
This man was surely perfect. Never once, 
Not even in slumber, when the lips are loosed, 
Spake he one word that was not true as truth. 
Ah, heart of gold ! why art thou broke ? O King ! 
Whence falleth he ? " 

And Yudhi-sthira said, 
Not pausing : " Once he lied, a lordly lie ! 
He bragged — our brother — that a single day 
Should see him utterly consume, alone, 
All those his enemies, — which could not be. 
Yet from a great heart sprang the unmeasured speech. 
Howbeit a finished hero should not shame 
Himself in such a wise, nor his enemy. 
If he will faultless fight and blameless die : 
This was Arjuna's sin. Follow thou me ! " 

So the King still went on. But Bhima next 
Fainted, and stayed upon the way, and sank ; 
But, sinking, cried behind the steadfast Prince : 
" Ah, Brother, see ! I die ! Look upon me, 
Thy well beloved ! Wherefore falter I, 
Who strove to stand ? " 

And Yudhi-sthira said ; 
" More than was well the goodly things of earth 
Pleased thee, my pleasant brother ! Light the offence 
And large thy spirit ; but the o'erfed soul 
Plumed itself over others. Pritha's son, 
For this thou fallest, who so near didst gain." 

Thenceforth alone the long-armed monarch strode, 
Not looking back, — nay, not for Bhima's sake, — 
But walking with his face set for the Mount ; 
And the hound followed him, — only the hound. 

After the deathly sands, the Mount ! and lo ! 
Sakra shone forth, — the God, — filling the earth 
And Heavens with the thunders of his chariot wheels. 
" Ascend," he said, '■' with me, Pritha's great son !" 
But Yudhi-sthira answered, sore at heart 
For those his kinsfolk, fallen on the way : 
" O Thousand-eyed, O Lord of all the gods, 
Give that my brothers come with me, who fell .' 
Not without them is Swarga sweet to me. 
She too, the dear and kind and queenly, — she 
Whose perfect virtue Paradise must crown, — 
Grant her to come with us ! Dost thou grant this ? " 



THE STORY OF THE MAHA-BHArATA. 51 

The God replied : " In Heaven thou shalt see 
Thy kinsmen and the Queen — these will attain — 
And Krishna. Grieve no longer for thy dead, 
Thou chief of men ! their mortal coverings stripped, 
These have their places ; but to thee, the gods 
Allow an unknown grace : thou shalt go up, 
Living and in thy form, to the immortal homes." 

But the King answered : " O thou wisest One, 
Who know'st what was, and is, and is to be, 
Still one more grace ! This hound hath ate with me, 
Followed me, loved me ; must I leave him now ? " 

" Monarch," spake Indra, " thou art now as we, — 
Deathless, divine ; thou art become a god ; 
Glory and power and gifts celestial, 
And all the joys of heaven are thine for aye : 
What hath a beast with these ? Leave here thy hound." 

Yet Yudhi-sthira answered : " O Most High, 

Thousand-Eyed and Wisest ! can it be 
That one exalted should seem pitiless ? 
Nay, let me lose such glory : for its sake 

1 cannot leave one living thing I loved." 

Then sternly Indra spake : " He is unclean. 
And into Swarga such shall enter not. 
The Krodhavasha's wrath destroys the fruits 
Of sacrifice, if dog defile the fire. 
Bethink thee, Dharmaraj ; quit now this beast I 
That which is seemly is not hard of heart." 

Still he replied : " 'T is written that to spurn 
A suppliant equals in offence to slay 
A twice-born ; wherefore, not for Swarga's bliss 
Quit I, Mahendra, this poor clinging dog, — 
So without any hope or friend save me. 
So wistful, fawning for my faithfulness ; 
So agonized to die, unless I help 
Who among men was called steadfast and just." 

Quoth Indra : " Nay, the altar flame is foul 
Where a dog passeth ; angry angels sweep 
The ascending smoke aside, and all the fruits 
Of offering, and the merit of the prayer 
Of him whom a hound toucheth. Leave it here ! 
He that will enter Heaven must enter pure. 
Why didst thou quit thy brethren on the way, 
And Krishna, and the dear-loved Draupadi, 
Attaining firm and glorious to this Mount 
Through perfect deeds, to linger for a brute ? 



52 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

Hath Yudhi-sthira vanquished self, to melt 
With one pure passion at the door of bliss ? 
Stay'st thou for this, who did not stay for them,' — 
Draupadi, Bhima ? " 

But the King yet spake : 
" 'T is known that none can hurt or help the dead. 
They, the delightful ones, who sank and died, 
Following my footsteps, could not live again 
Though I had turned — therefore I did not turn ; 
But could help profit, I had stayed to help. 
There be four sins, O Sakra, grievous sins : 
The first is making suppliants despair, 
The second is to slay a nursing wife, 
The third is spoiling Brahmans' goods by force, 
The fourth is injuring an ancient friend. 
These four I deem not direr than the crime, 
If one, in coming forth from woe to weal, 
Abandon any meanest comrade then." 

Straight as he spake, brightly great Indra smiled ; 
Vanished the hound, and in its stead stood there 
The Lord of Death and Justice, Dharma's self ! 
Sweet were the words which fell from those dread lips, 
Precious the lovely praise : " O thou true King, 
Thou that dost bring to harvest the good seed 
Of Pandu's righteousness ; thou that hast ruth 
As he before, on all which lives ! — O Son ! 



Hear thou my word ! Because thou didst not mount 
This car divine, lest the poor hound be shent 
Who looked to thee, lo ! there is none in heaven 
Shall sit above thee, King ! Bharata's son ! 
Enter thou now to the eternal joys. 
Living and in thy form. Justice and Love 
Welcome thee, Monarch ! thou shalt throne with us ! " 

Arnold : Indian Idylls. 



> TB 



THE ILIAD. 

THE Ilisd, or story of the fall of Ilium (Troy), is sup- 
posed to have been written by Homer, about the 
tenth century b. c. The legendary history of Homer repre- 
sents him as a schoolmaster and poet of Smyrna, who while 
visiting in Ithaca became Wind, and afterwards spent his life 
travelling from place to place reciting his poems, until he 
died in los. Seven cities, Smyrna, Chios, Colophon, Ithaca, 
Pylos, Argos, and Athens, claimed to be his birthplace. 

In 1795, Wolf, a German scholar, published his " Proleg- 
omena," which set forth his theory that Homer was a ficti- 
tious character, and that the Iliad was made up of originally 
unconnected poems, collected and combined by Pisistratus. 

Though for a time the Wolfian theory had many advo- 
cates, it is now generally conceded that although the stories 
of the fall of Troy were current long before Homer, they were 
collected and recast into one poem by some great poet. 
That the Iliad is the work of one man is clearly shown by its 
unity, its sustained simplicity of style, and the centraHzation 
of interest in the character of Achilles. 

The destruction of Troy, for a time regarded as a poetic 
fiction, is now believed by many scholars to be an actual 
historical event which took place about the time of the 
^olian migration. 

The whole story of the fall of Troy is not related in the 
Iliad, the poem opening nine years after the beginning of the 
war, and closing with the death of Hector. 

The Iliad is divided into twenty-four books, and contains 
nineteen thousand four hundred and sixty-five lines. 

As a work of art the Iliad has never been excelled ; 
moreover, it possesses what all works of art do not, — ** the 



54 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



touches of things human " that make it ours, although the 
centuries lie between us and its unknown author, who told 
his stirring story in such swift-moving verse?> with such 
touches of pathos and humor, and with such evident joy of 
living. Another evidence of the perfection of Homers art is 
that while his heroes are perfect types of Greeks and Trojans, 
they are also typical men, and for that reason, still keep their 
hold upon us. It is this human interest, simplicity of style, 
and grandeur of treatment that have rendered Homer im- 
mortal and his work imperishable. 

Bibliography and Criticism, The Iliad. M. Arnold's 
Essay on Homer, 1876, pp. 284-425 ; H. Bonitz's Origin of 
the Homeric Poems, tr. 1880 ; R. C. Jebb's Introduction to 
Homer, 1887; F. B. Jevons's History of Greek Literature, 
1886, pp. 7-17 ; A. Lang's Homer and the Epic, 1893 ; W. 
Leaf's Companion to the Iliad for English Readers, 1892 ; 
J. A. Symonds's Studies in Greek Poets, ed. 3, 1893. 

Standard English Translations, The Iliad. The Iliad, 
Tr. into English blank verse by W. C. Bryant, 2 vols., 
187 1 (Primitive in spirit, like Homer. Union of literal- 
ness with simplicity) ; The Iliad, Tr. according to the Greek 
with introduction and notes by George Chapman [16 15], 
Ed. 2, 2 vols., 1874 (Written in verse. Pope says a daring 
and fiery spirit animates this translation, something like that 
in which one might imagine Homer would have written be- 
fore he came to years of discretion) ; The Iliad, Tr. by 
William Cowper (Very literal and inattentive to melody, but 
has more of simple majesty and manner of Homer than 
Pope) ; The Iliad, rendered into English blank verse by the 
Earl of Derby, 2 vols., 1864; The Iliad, Tr. by Alexander 
Pope, with notes by the Rev. T. W. A. Buckley, n. d. (Writ- 
ten in couplets. Highly ornamented paraphrase). 



^^HE STORY OF THE ILIAD. ^5 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD. 

For nine years a fleet of one thousand one hundred 
and eighty-six ships and an army of more than one hun- 
dred thousand Greeks, under the command of Agamemnon, 
lay before King Priam's city of Troy to avenge the wrongs of 
Menelaus, King of Sparta, and to reclaim Helen, his wife, 
who had been carried away by Priam's son Paris, at the 
instigation of Venus. 

Though they had not succeeded in taking Troy, the 
Greeks had conquered many of the surrounding cities. 
From one of these, Agamemnon had taken as his share of 
the booty Chryseis, the beautiful daughter of the priest 
Chryses j and when her father had come to ransom her, he 
had been insulted and driven away by the king. Chryses 
had prayed to Apollo for revenge, and the god had sent 
upon the Greeks a pestilence which was slaying so many 
thousands that a meeting was called to consult upon what to 
do to check the plague and concihate the god. 

Calchas the seer had declared that the plague was sent 
because of the detention of Chryseis, and Agamemnon, 
though indignant with the priest, announced that he would 
send her back to save his army from destruction. " Note, 
however," said he, "that I have now given up my booty. 
See that I am recompensed for what I lose." 

Then rose the leader of the Myrmidons, swift-footed 
Achilles, in his wrath, and denounced Agamemnon for his 
greediness. 

" Thou hast ever had thy share and more of all the booty, 
and thou knowest well that there is now no common store 
from which to give thee spoil. But wait until Troy town is 
sacked, and we will gladly give thee three and fourfold thy 
recompense." 

The angry Agamemnon declared that if he were not given 
the worth of what he had lost he would seize the maidens of 
Ajax and Ulysses, or Achilles' maid, Briseis. 



56 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Achilles was beside himself with rage. He had not come 
to Troy to contribute to Agamemnon's glory. He and his 
followers had long borne the brunt of battle only to see the 
largest share of booty given to Agamemnon, who lay idle in 
his ships. Sooner than endure longer such indignity he would 
return home to Phthia. 

"Go ! " replied Agamemnon. " I detest thee and thy 
ways. Go back over the sea and rule over thy Myrmidons. 
But since Phoebus has taken away my maid, I will carry off 
thy prize, thy rosy-cheeked Briseis, that thou may'st learn 
that I am indeed king." 

Warned by Pallas Athene, Achilles took his hand from his 
sword hilt, and contented himself with telling Agamemnon 
that he would see the day when he would fret to think he 
had driven Achilles from the Grecian ranks. 

Though the persuasive orator, Nestor, endeavored to 
make peace between the chiefs, Agamemnon could not be 
softened. As soon as the black ship bearing Chryseis set 
sail, he sent his unwilling men to where Achilles sat by his 
tent, beside the barren deep, to take the fair Briseis, whom 
Achilles ordered to be led forth to them. Then the long 
days dragged by in the tent where the chief sat eating his 
heart out in idleness, while his men engaged in athletic 
sports, and the rest of the Greeks fought before Troy. 

Both armies, worn out with indecisive battles, gladly hailed 
Hector's proposal that a combat between Paris and Mene- 
laus should decide the war. 

As the armies stood in silence, watching the preparations 
for the combat, Helen, summoned by Iris, left her room in 
Priam's palace, where she was weaving among her maidens, 
andj robed and veiled in white, and shedding tears at the 
recollection of her former home and husband, went down to 
the Scaean gates, where sat Priam and the men too old for 
war. When they saw bright-haired Helen they whispered 
among themselves that it was little wonder that men warred 
for her sake, so fair was she, so like unto the deathless 
goddesses. 

In response to Priam's tender greeting she seated herself 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD. 



57 



beside him and pointed out the Greek heroes, — Agamem- 
non, ruler over wide lands, crafty Ulysses, and the mighty 
Ajax ; but she strained her eyes in vain for a sight of her 
dearly loved brothers, Castor and Pollux, not knowing that 
they already lay dead in pleasant Lacedsemon. 

In the single combat between Paris and Menelaus, the 
spear of the Greek was fixed in Paris's buckler, and his sword 
was shivered on his helmet without injury to the Trojan. 
But, determined to overcome his hateful foe, Menelaus seized 
Paris by the helm and dragged him towards the Grecian 
ranks. Great glory would have been his had not the watch- 
ful Venus loosed the helm and snatched away the god-like 
Paris in a cloud. While the Greeks demanded Helen and 
her wealth as the price of Menelaus's victory, Pandarus, 
prompted by Pallas, broke the truce by a shot aimed at 
Menelaus, and the battle soon raged with greater fury than 
before. 

Diomed, having received new strength and courage from 
Pallas, rushed madly over the field, falling upon the affrighted 
Trojans like a lion in the sheepfold ; then, made more pre- 
sumptuous by his success, and forgetful of the few years 
promised the man who dares to meet the gods in battle, 
the arrogant warrior struck at Venus and wounded her in 
the wrist, so that, shrieking with pain, she yielded ^neas 
to Apollo, and fled to Olympus. 

Perceiving that the Trojans were unable to withstand the 
fury of Diomed, assisted as he was by Pallas and Juno, 
Hector hastened homeward to order a sacrifice to Pallas 
that she might look with more favor upon their cause. 

Having instructed his mother to lay her richest robe on 
Pallas's shrine. Hector sought his wife, the white-armed An- 
dromache, and their babe, Astyanax. Andromache entreated 
Hector to go forth no more to battle, to lose his life and 
leave their babe fatherless ; but Hector, upon whom the 
cares of war sat heavily, bade her a tender farewell, and kiss- 
ing the babe, returned with Paris to the field. 

Incited by Pallas and Apollo, Helenus suggested to his 
brother Hector that he should challenge the bravest of the 



58 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



Greeks to single combat. The lot fell to Ajax tne Greater, 
and the two mighty heroes contested with spears- and stones 
until twilight fell, and they were parted by a herald. 

That night the Greeks feasted, and when, the next morn- 
ing, a Trojan messenger offered them the treasures of Helen 
if they would withdraw from Troy, and proposed a truce, 
they indignantly rejected the offer, declaring that they would 
not even accept Helen herself, but agreed upon a truce in 
which to bury the dead. 

When the battle was renewed, Jupiter forbade the gods to 
take part. Opposed by no celestial foes, the Trojans were 
this day successful, and having pursued the Greeks to the 
ships, sat all night, full of hope, around their thousand watch 
fires, waiting for the morn. 

In the Grecian camp, however, a different scene was being 
enacted. Disheartened by their defeat, Agamemnon pro- 
posed that the armies give up the siege and return to 
Greece. 

Angry at his weakness, Diomed thus reproached him : — 

" The gods have granted thee high rank and rule, but 
thou hast no fortitude. Return if thou desirest. Still enough 
long-haired Achaians will remain to take the city. If they 
desire to go as well, at least Sthenelus and I will remain until 
Troy is ours. We have the gods with us." 

At the suggestion of Nestor a banquet was spread, and 
after the hunger of all was appeased, the peril of the Greeks 
was discussed in the Council of the Elders. Here Nestor 
showed Agamemnon that the trouble began at the hour when 
he drove Achilles from their ranks by appropriating Briseis. 

Ill fortune had humbled the haughty Agamemnon, and he 
confessed that he had done wrong. *' For this wrong, how- 
ever," said he, '•' I am ready to make ample amends. Price- 
less gifts I will send to Achilles : seven tripods, six talents 
of pure gold, twenty shining caldrons, twelve steeds, seven 
damsels, among them Briseis ; not only this, when Priam's 
citadel falls, he shall be the first to load his galley down 
with gold and silver and with Trojan maidens. Better yet, 
I will unite him to me by the ties of marriage. I will give 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD. 



59 



him my daughter for a wife, and with her for a dower will go 
seven cities near the sea, rich in flocks and herds. Then 
let him yield, and join us in taking Troy. " 

Joyfully the messengers — Ajax, Ulysses, and the aged 
Phoenix, carefully instructed by Nestor — set forth on their 
embassy. As they neared the tents of the Myrmidons their 
ears were struck by the notes of a silver harp touched by 
Achilles to solace him in his loneliness. His friend Patroclus 
sat beside him in silence. Achilles and Patroclus greeted 
the messengers warmly, mingled the pure wine, and spread a 
feast for them. This over, Ulysses, at a nod from Ajax, 
drank to Achilles' health, and then told him of the sore need 
of the Greeks, pressed by the Trojans. If he did not come 
to their aid, he whose very name frightened the enemy, the 
time would surely come when he would greatly lament his 
idleness. 

Achilles' passion, the greater for its fifteen days' repres- 
sion, burst forth in his reply : " I will say what I have in my 
heart," he cried, " since concealment is hateful to me. What 
thanks does the victor in countless battles gain ? He and the 
idler are equally honored, and die the same death. Many 
nights' slumber have I lost on the battle field ; many cities 
have I conquered, abroad and here upon the Trojan coast, 
and of the spoil, the greater part has gone to Agamemnon, 
who sat idle in his fleet ; yet from me, who suffered much in 
fighting, he took my prize, my dearly loved Briseis ; now let 
him keep her. Let him learn for himself how to conquer 
Hector, — this Hector, who, when I went out against him, 
was afraid to leave the shelter of the Scaean gates. To-mor- 
row, if you but watch, you will see my galleys sailing upon the 
Hellespont on our return to Phthia. Evil was the hour in 
which I left its fertile coasts for this barren shore, where my 
mother Thetis foretold I should win deathless renown but 
bitter death. 

" Tell Agamemnon that I will never wed a child of his. 
On my return to Phthia my father will select a bride for me 
with whom, on his broad fields, I can live the life I have 
dreamed of." 



6o NATIONAL EPICS. 

The entreaties of the aged Phoenix, who had helped to 
rear Achilles, and his arguments against his mercilessness, 
were of no avail ; neither were the words of Ajax. How- 
ever, he at last sent the message that he would remain by the 
sea watching the course of the war, and that he would en- 
counter Hector whenever he approached to set fire to the 
galleys of the Myrmidons. 

That night sleep did not visit the eyes of Agamemnon. 
Long he reflected on the reply of Achilles, and wondered at 
the watch fires on the plain before Troy. The other chiefs 
were likewise full of anxiety, and when Nestor offered a re- 
ward to any one who would go as a spy to the Trojan camp, 
Diomed quickly volunteered. Selecting the wary Ulysses 
as his companion, he stole forth to where the Trojans sat 
around their camp fires. The pair intercepted and slew 
Dolon the spy, and finding Rhesus and his Thracian band 
wrapped in slumber, slew the king with twelve of his chiefs, 
and carried away his chariot and horses. 

Encouraged by this bold deed, the Greeks went forth to 
batde the next morning. Fortune still favored the Trojans, 
however, and many Greeks fell by the hand of Hector, until 
he was checked by Ulysses and Diomed. In the fight, 
Agamemnon was wounded, and Diomed, Ulysses, and Ma- 
chaon. And when Achilles from his tent saw the physician 
borne back from battle wounded, in the chariot of Nestor, he 
sent Patroclus to inquire of his injury. Nestor sent word 
that Ulysses, Agamemnon, Diomed, Machaon, and Eury- 
pylus were wounded ; perhaps these tidings would induce 
Achilles to forget his grievances, and once more go forth to 
battle. If not, he urged Patroclus to beseech Achilles to 
permit him, Patroclus, to go forth with the Myrmidons, clad 
in Achilles' armor, and strike terror to the hearts of the 
Trojans. 

The Trojans, encouraged by their success, pushed forward 
to the trench which the Greeks had dug around the wall 
thrown up before the ships, and, leaving their chariots on the 
brink, went on foot to the gates. After a long struggle, — be- 
cause the Trojans could not break down the wall and the 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD. 6l 

Greeks could not drive back the Trojans, — Hector seized a 
mighty stone, so large that two men could scarcely lift it, and 
bearing it in one hand, battered the bolted gates until they 
gave way with a crash ; and the Trojans sprang within, pursu- 
ing the affrighted Greeks to the ships. 

From the heights of Olympus the gods kept a strict watch 
on the battle ; and as soon as Neptune discovered that Jove, 
secure in the belief that no deity would interfere with the 
successful Trojans, had turned away his eyes, he went to 
the aid of the Greeks. Juno, also, furious at the sight of the 
Greeks who had fallen before the mighty Hector, determined 
to turn the attention of Jove until Neptune had had an op- 
portunity to assist the Greeks. Jove sat upon the peaks of 
Mount Ida, and thither went Juno, after rendering herself 
irresistible by borrowing the cestus of Venus. Jove, delighted 
with the appearance of his wife, and still further won by her 
tender words and caresses, thought no longer of the armies 
fighting at the Grecian wall. 

Great was his anger when, after a time, he again looked 
towards Troy and saw that Neptune had employed his time 
in aiding the Greeks, and that Hector had been wounded by 
Ajax. By his orders Neptune was quickly recalled, Hector 
was healed by Apollo, and the Trojans, strengthened again 
by Jupiter, drove back the Greeks to the ships, and attempted 
to set fire to the fleet. 

Seeing the Greeks in such desperate straits, Achilles at 
last gave his consent that Patroclus should put on his armor, 
take his Myrmidons, and drive the Trojans from the ships, 
stipulating, however, that he should return when this was 
done, and not follow the Trojans in their flight to Troy. 

The appearance of the supposed Achilles struck fear to 
the hearts of the Trojans, and Patroclus succeeded in driving 
them from the fleet and in slaying Sarpedon. Intoxicated 
by his success, he forgot Achilles' warning, and pursued the 
fleeing Trojans to the walls of Troy. The strength of the 
Trojans was not sufficient to cope with that of Patroclus ; and 
Troy would have been taken had not Apollo stood upon a 
tower to thrust him down each time he attempted to scale 



62 NATIONAL EPICS. 

the walls. At last Hector and Patroclus encountered each 
other, and fought furiously. Seeing the peril of Hector, 
Apollo smote Patroclus's helmet off, broke his spear, and 
loosed his buckler. Still undaunted, the hero fought until he 
fell, and died with the boasting words of Hector in his ears. 

Speedily the swift-footed Antilochus conveyed to Achilles 
the tidings of his friend's death. Enveloped in " a black 
cloud of sorrow," Achilles rolled in the dust and lamented 
for his friend until warned by Iris that the enemy were about 
to secure Patroclus's body. Then, without armor, — for 
Hector had secured that of Patroclus and put it on, — he 
hastened to the trench, apart from the other Greeks, and 
shouted thrice, until the men of Troy, panic-stricken, fell 
back in disorder, and the body of his friend was carried away 
by the triumphant Greeks. 

Through the long night the Achaians wept over Patroclus ; 
but deeper than their grief was the sorrow of Achilles, for he 
had promised Menoetius to bring back his son in honor, 
laden with spoils, and now the barren coast of Troy would 
hold the ashes of both. Then Achilles made a solemn vow 
not to celebrate the funeral rites of Patroclus until he brought 
to him the head and arms of Hector, and had captured on 
the field twelve Trojan youths to slaughter on his funeral 
pile. The .\ated Hector slain and Patroclus's funeral rites 
celebrated, he cared not for the future. The fate his mother 
had foretold did not daunt him. Since, by his own folly, 
his dearest friend had been taken from him, the sooner their 
ashes rested together the better. If he was not to see the 
rich fields of Phthia, his was to be, at least, a deathless 
renown. 

To take the place of the arms which Hector had taken 
from Patroclus, Vulcan, at Thetis's request, had fashioned for 
Achilles the most beautiful armor ever worn by man. Brass, 
tin, silver, and gold composed the bright corselet, the solid 
helm, and the wondrous shield, adorned with such pictures 
as no mortal artist ever wrought. 

After having feasted his eyes on this beautiful armor, whose 
clanking struck terror even to the hearts of the Myrmidons, 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD. 



63 



Achilles sought out the Greeks and Agamemnon, and in the 
assembly acknowledged his fault. " Let these things belong 
to the dead past," said he. " My wrath is done. Let us 
now stir the long-haired Greeks to war." 

" Fate, not I, was the cause of our trouble," replied Aga- 
memnon. " The goddess of discord created the dissension, 
that Ate who troubled even the gods on Olympus until ex- 
pelled by Jupiter. But I will make amends with liberal gifts." 

Peace having been made between the chiefs, Achilles re- 
turned to his tent without partaking of the banquet spread 
by Agamemnon, as he had vowed not to break his fast until he 
had avenged his friend. Agamemnon's gifts were carried to 
the tents of Achilles by the Myrmidons, and with them went 
Briseis, who, when she saw the body of Patroclus, threw her- 
self upon it and wept long for the one whose kindness to 
her — whose lot had been sorrow upon sorrow — she could 
never forget. All the women mourned, seemingly for Patro- 
clus, really for their own griefs. Achilles likewise wept, 
until, strengthened by Pallas, he hastened to put his armor 
on and urge the Greeks to battle. 

As he mounted his chariot he spoke thus to his fleet steeds, 
Xanthus and Balius : " Bring me back when the battle is 
over, I charge you, my noble steeds. Leave me not on the 
field, as you left Patroclus." 

Then Xanthus, with the long-flowing mane, endowed with 
power of speech by Juno, thus spake : " This day, at least, 
we will bring thee home, Achilles ; but the hour of thy death is 
nigh, and, since the fates have decreed it, we could not save 
thee, were we swift as the winged winds. Nor was it through 
fault of ours that Patroclus fell." 

Angry at the reminder of his doom, Achilles drove hur- 
riedly to the field, determined to fight until he had made the 
Trojans sick of war. 

Knowing that the war was drawing rapidly to a close, 
Jupiter gave permission to the gods to take part in it, and a 
terrible combat ensued. Juno, Pallas, Neptune, Hermes, 
and Vulcan went to the fleet of the Greeks, while Mars, 
Apollo, Diana, Latona, Venus, and Xanthus arrayed them- 



64 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



selves with the Trojans. When the gods joined in the com- 
bat and Neptune shook the earth and Jupiter thundered 
from above, there was such tumult in the air that even the 
dark god of the underworld was terrified. In the battle of 
the gods, Apollo encountered Neptune, Pallas fought against 
Mars, Diana and Juno opposed each other, Hermes was 
pitted against Latona, and Xanthus or Scamander, the river 
god, strove against Vulcan. It was not long before Jupiter's 
fear was realized, and the mortals needed the aid of the 
gods, ^neas, encouraged by Apollo to confront Achilles, 
was rescued only by the intervention of Neptune, who, re- 
membering that it was the will of fate that ^neas should be 
spared to perpetuate the Dardan race, snatched him away in 
a cloud, although he was himself aiding the Greeks. 

Mad with rage and spattered with blood, Achilles pursued 
the flying Trojans about the plain, sparing none except the 
twelve youths who were to be butchered on the funeral pile 
of Patroclus. He stood in the river, filHng it with slaugh- 
tered bodies until, indignant at the insults offered him, the 
river god Scamander caused his waters to rush after Achilles 
so that he fled for his life. Far across the plain it chased 
him, and was only stopped by the fires of Vulcan, summoned 
by Juno. 

By an artifice of Apollo, Achilles was decoyed away from 
the gates of Troy long enough to allow the Trojans to enter. 
Hector, however, stayed without, unmoved by the prayers of 
Priam and Hecuba. Too late he saw his error in not heed- 
ing the advice of Polydamas to keep within the walls after 
the re-appearance of Achilles ; he feared the reproaches of 
the Trojan warriors and dames, and determined to meet his 
fate, whatever it might be. Even death at the hands of 
Achilles would be preferable to the insults and reproaches 
that might await him within the walls. 

When he saw Achilles approach in his god-given armor, 
fear seized the noble Hector, and he fied from his enemy. 
Thrice around the walls he fled, Achilles pursuing, and the 
gods looked down from heaven in sorrow, for, according to 
the decrees of fate. Hector must fall this day by the hand of 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD. 65 

Achilles. To hasten the combat, Pallas assuQied the form 
of Hector's brother Deiphobus, and stood by his side, en- 
couraging him to turn and meet his foe. 

Hector soon perceived the deception, but boldly faced 
Achilles, who sprang at him, brandishing his awful spear. 
Quickly stooping, Hector avoided the weapon and hurled his 
spear at Achilles. It was an unequal conflict. The armor 
of Achilles was weapon proof, and Pallas stood at his elbow 
to return to him his weapons. Achilles knew well the weak 
spots in his old armor worn by Hector, and selecting a seam 
unguarded by the shield, he gave Hector a mortal wound, 
and insulted him as he lay dying at his feet. 

Tears and wailing filled the city as the Trojans watched 
the combat ; and despair fell upon them when they saw the 
body of Hector fastened to the chariot of Achilles and 
dragged thrice around the Trojan walls. From her chamber 
where she sat weaving, unaware of the mortal combat waged 
before the walls, Andromache came forth to see great 
Hector fallen and his corpse insulted by his enemy. 

While Priam sat in his palace with dust strewn on his 
head, and the waiHngs of the women filled the streets of 
Troy, the Greeks were hastening to their camps to celebrate 
the funeral rites of Patroclus, whose body had been saved 
from corruption by Thetis. A massive funeral pile was con- 
structed of wood brought from the forests on Mount Ida. 
The chiefs in their chariots and thousands of men on foot 
followed the body of Patroclus. The comrades of the dead 
warrior cut dff their long hair and strewed it on the dead, 
and Achilles sheared his yellow hair and placed the locks in 
Patroclus's hands. He had suffered the flowing curls to grow 
long because of a vow made by his father to the river Sper- 
chius that he would sacrifice these locks to him on his son's 
return home, a useless vow, since now he was to lose his life 
by this dark blue sea. 

Next the sacrifice was offered, many fatlings of the flock, 
and countless oxen, noble steeds, dogs, jars of honey, and 
lastly the bodies of the twelve Trojan youths were heaped 
upon the fire. 

5 



66 NATIONAL EPICS. 

After the flames had consumed- the pile, Achilles and his 
friends quenched the ashes with red wine, and gathered the 
bones of Patroclus in a golden vase which Achilles com- 
manded his friends not to bury until he, too, fell before 
Troy, that their ashes might be mingled and buried under one 
mound by the remaining Greeks. 

After the funeral rites were celebrated, the funeral games 
were held, in which the warriors vied with each other in 
chariot racing, boxing, wrestling, foot racing, throwing the 
spear, and archery. 

So ended the funeral of Patroclus, and the gods, looking 
down from heaven, sorrowed for Hector, whose corpse 
Achilles was treating with such indignity, intending that the 
dogs should destroy it. The gods had kept the body 
unstained, and now they determined to soften Achilles' 
heart, that he might restore it to Priam. 

Iris descended from heaven, and standing at the side of 
Priam as he sat with dust-strewn head, in his palace halls, 
gave him Jove's command that he should take gifts and visit 
Achilles, to ransom Hector's body. Heeding not the prayers 
of Hecuba, Priam gathered together whatever was most 
choice, talents of pure gold, beautiful goblets, handsome 
robes and tunics, and seating himself in his poHshed car, 
drawn by strong-hoofed mules, set forth unaccompanied 
save by an aged herald. Above him soared Jove's eagle, in 
token of the god's protection, 

Priam had not gone far when he met Mercury in the 
guise of a Greek youth, who guided him unseen through the 
slumbering Greek lines to the tent of Achilles. 

The hero was just finishing his repast when the old king 
entered, fell on his knees, kissed the cruel hands that had 
slain so many of his sons, and prayed him to give up the 
body of his loved Hector in return for the ransom he had 
brought with him. Achilles, recognizing the fact that Priam 
had made his way there uninjured only by the assistance and 
protection of some god, and touched by the thought of his 
own aged father, whom he should never again gladden by his 
return to Phthia, granted the request, and bade Priam seat 



THE STORY OF THE IlFaD. 



67 



himself at the table and banquet with him. He also granted 
a twelve days' truce for the celebration of the funeral rites 
of Hector, and then invited Priam to pass the night in his 
tent. Warned by Mercury, Priam rose early in the morning, 
and, unseen by the Greeks, conveyed Hector's body back to 
Troy. 

When the polished car of Priam entered the city of Troy, 
great were the lamentations and wailings over the body of 
Hector. Hecuba and Andromache vied with each other in 
the bitterness of their grief, and Helen lamented because the 
only friend she had in Troy had departed, and no one who 
remained would be kind to her. 

During the twelve days granted as a truce, wood was 
brought from Ida, and the funeral rites of Hector were cele- 
brated as befitted the son of a great king. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ILIAD. 

Helen at the Sc^an Gates. 

Paris, moved by the reproaches of Hector, proposed that the 
nine years' indecisive war be settled by single combat between 
himself and Menelaus, the victor to take Helen and the treas- 
ure. Greeks and Trojans agreed to this proposition, and the 
tidings of the approaching combat were borne to Helen by 
Iris. 

In the heart of Helen woke 

Dear recollections of her former spouse 

And of her home and kindred. Instantly 

She left her chamber, robed and veiled in white, 

And shedding tender tears ; yet not alone, 

For with her went two maidens, — ^thra, child 

Of Pitheus, and the large-eyed Clymene. 

Straight to the Scaean gates they walked, by which 

Panthoiis, Priam, and Thymoetes sat, 

Lampus and Clytius, Hicetaon sprung 

From Mars, Antenor and Ucalegon, 

Two sages, — elders of the people all. 

Beside the gates they sat, unapt, through age, 

For tasks of war, but men of fluent speech, 

Like the cicadas that within the wood 

Sit on the trees and utter delicate sounds. 



68 NATIONAL EPICS. . 

Such were the nobles of the Trojan race 

Who sat upon the tower. But when they marked 

The approach of Helen, to each other thus 

With winged words, but in low tones, they said : — 

" Small blame is theirs, if both the Trojan knights 
And brazen-mailed Achaians have endured 
So long so many evils for the sake 
Of that one woman. She is wholly like 
In feature to the deathless goddesses. 
So be it : let her, peerless as she is, 
Return on board the fleet, nor stay to bring 
Disaster upon us and all our race." 

So spake the elders. Priam meantime called 
To Helen : " Come, dear daughter, sit by me. 
Thou canst behold thy former husband hence, 
Thy kindred and thy friends. I blame thee not ; 
The blame is with the immortals who have sent 
These pestilent Greeks against me. Sit and name 
For me this mighty man, the Grecian chief, 
Gallant and tall. True, there are taller men ; 
But of such noble form and dignity 
I never saw: in truth, a kingly man." 

And Helen, fairest among women, thus 
Answered: " Dear second father, whom at once 
I fear and honor, would that cruel death 
Had overtaken me before I left. 
To wander with thy son, my marriage bed, 
And my dear daughter, and the company 
Of friends I loved. But that was not to be ; 
And now I pine and weep. Yet will I tell 
What thou dost ask. The hero whom thou seest 
Is the wide-ruling Agamemnon, son 
Of Atreus, and is both a gracious king 
And a most dreaded warrior. He was once 
Brother-in-law to me, if I may speak — 
Lost as I am to shame — of such a tie." 

She said, the aged man admired, and then 
He spake again : " O son of Atreus, born 
Under a happy fate, and fortunate 
Among the sons of men ! A mighty host 
Of Grecian youths obey thy rule. I went 
To Phrygia once, — that land of vines, — and there 
Saw many Phrygians, heroes on fleet steeds, 
The troops of Otreus, and of Mygdon, shaped 
Like one of the immortals. They encamped 
By the Sangarius. I was an ally ; 
My troops were ranked with theirs upon the day 
When came the unsexed Amazons to war. 
Yet even there I saw not such a host 
As this of black-eyed Greeks who muster here." 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD. 69 

Then Priam saw Ulysses, and inquired : — 
" Dear daughter, tell me also who is that, 
Less tall than Agamemnon, yet more broad 
In chest and shoulders. On the teeming earth 
His armor lies, but he, from place to place, 
Walks round among the ranks of soldiery. 
As when the thick-fleeced father of the flocks 
Moves through the multitude of his white sheep." 

And Jove-descended Helen answered thus : — 
"That is Ulysses, man of many arts, 
Son of Laertes, reared in Ithaca, 
That rugged isle, and skilled in every form 
Of shrewd device and action wisely planned." 

Then spake the sage Antenor : " Thou hast said 
The truth, O lady. This Ulysses once 
Came on an embassy, concerning thee, 
To Troy with Menelaus, great in war; 
And I received them as my guests, and they 
Were lodged within my palace, and I learned 
The temper and the qualities of both. 
When both were standing 'mid the men of Troy, 
I marked that Menelaus's broad chest 
Made him the more conspicuous, but when both 
Were seated, greater was the dignity 
Seen in Ulysses, When they both addressed 
The council, Menelaus briefly spake 
In pleasing tones, though with few words, — as one 
Not given to loose and wandering speech, — although 
The younger. When the wise Ulysses rose, 
He stood with eyes cast down, and fixed on earth, 
And neither swayed his sceptre to the right 
Nor to the left, but held it motionless. 
Like one unused to public speech. He seemed 
An idiot out of humor. But when forth 
He sent from his full lungs his mighty voice, 
And words came like a fall of winter snow. 
No mortal then would dare to strive with him 
For mastery in speech. We less admired 
The aspect of Ulysses than his words." 

Beholding Ajax then, the aged king 
Asked yet again : " Who is that other chief 
Of the Achaians, tall, and large of limb, — 
Taller and broader-chested than the rest ? " 

Helen, the beautiful and richly-robed. 
Answered : " Thou seest the mighty Ajax there. 
The bulwark of the Greeks. On the other side, 
Among his Cretans, stands Idomeneus, 
Of godlike aspect, near to whom are grouped 
The leaders of the Cretans. Oftentimes 
The warlike Menelaus welcomed him 



70 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Within our palace, when he came from Crete. 

I could point out and name the other chiefs 

Of the dark-eyed Achaians. Two alone, 

Princes among their people, are not seen, — 

Castor the fearless horseman, and the skilled 

In boxing, Pollux, — twins ; one mother bore 

Both them and me. Came they not with the rest 

From pleasant Lacedsemon to the war ? 

Or, having crossed the deep in their good ships, 

Shun they to fight among the valiant ones 

Of Greece, because of my reproach and shame? " 

She spake; but they already lay in earth 
In Lacedaemon, their dear native land. 

Bryanfs Translation, Book lit. 



The Parting of Hector and Andromache. 

The single combat between Paris and Menelaus broke up in 
a general battle unfavorable to the Trojans, and Hector returned 
to Troy to order the Trojan matrons to sacrifice to Pallas. He 
then sought his dwelling to greet his wife and child, but learned 
from one of the maids that Andromache, on hearing that the 
Greeks were victorious, had hastened to the city walls with the 
child and its nurse. ^ 

Hector left in haste 
The mansion, and retraced his way between 
The rows of stately dwellings, traversing 
The mighty city. When at length he reached 
The Scaean gates, that issue on the field, 
His spouse, the nobly-dowered Andromache, 
Came forth to meet him, — daughter of the prince 
Eetion, who among the woody slopes 
Of Placos, in the Hypoplacian town 
Of Thebe, ruled Cilicia and her sons. 
And gave his child to Hector great in arms. 
She came attended by a maid, who bore 
A tender child — a babe too young to speak — 
Upon her bosom, — Hector's only son, 
Beautiful as a star, whom Hector called 
Scamandrius, but all else Astyanax, — 
The city's lord, — since Hector stood the sole 
Defence of Troy. The father on his child 
Looked with a silent smile. Andromache 
Pressed to his side meanwhile, and, all in tears, 
Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said : — 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD. 71 

*' Too brave ! thy valor yet will cause thy death. 
Thou hast no pity on thy tender child 
Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be 
Thy widow. All the Greeks will rush on thee 
To take thy life. A happier lot were mine, 
If I must lose thee, to go down to earth. 
For I shall have no hope when thou art gone, — 
Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none, 
And no dear mother. Great Achilles slew 
My father when he sacked the populous town 
Of the Cilicians, - Thebe with high gates. 
'T was there he smote Eetion, yet forbore 
To make his arms a spoil ; he dared not that, 
But burned the dead with his bright armor on. 
And raised a mound above him. Mountain-nymphs, 
Daughters of aegis-bearing Jupiter, 
Came to the spot and planted it with elms. 
Seven brothers had I in my father's house, 
And all went down to Hades in one day. 
Achilles the swift-footed slew them all 
Among their slow-paced bullocks and white sheep. 
My mother, princess on the woody slopes 
Of Placos, with his spoils he bore away, 
And only for large ransom gave her back. 
But her Diana, archer-queen, struck down 
Within her father's palace. Hector, thou 
Art father and dear mother now to me. 
And brother and my youthful spouse besides. 
In pity keep within the fortress here, 
Nor make thy child an orphan nor thy wife 
A widow. Post thine army near the place 
Of the wild fig-tree, where the city-walls 
Are low and may be scaled. Thrice in war 
The boldest of the foe have tried the spot, — 
The Ajaces and the famed Idomeneus, 
The two chiefs born to Atreus, and the brave 
Tydides, whether counselled by some seer 
Or prompted to the attempt by their own minds," 

Then answered Hector, great in war : "All this 
I bear in mind, dear wife ; but I should stand 
Ashamed before the men and long-robed dames 
Of Troy, were I to keep aloof and shun 
The conflict, coward-like. Not thus my heart 
Prompts me, for greatly have I learned to dare 
And strike among the foremost sons of Troy, 
Upholding my great father's fame and mine ; 
Yet well in my undoubting mind I know 
The day shall come in which our sacred Troy, 
And Priam, and the people over whom 
Spear-bearing Priam rules, shall perish all. 



72 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

But not the soitov/s of the Trojan race, 

Nor those of Hecuba herself, nor those 

Of royal Priam, nor the woes that wait 

My brothers many and brave, — who all at last, 

Slain by the pitiless foe, shall lie in dust, — 

Grieve me so much as thine, when some mailed Greek 

Shall lead thee weeping hence, and take from thee 

Thy day of freedom. Thou in Argos then 

Shalt at another's bidding ply the loom, 

And from the fountain of Messeis draw 

Water, or from the Hypereian spring. 

Constrained unwilling by thy cruel lot. 

And then shall some one say who sees thee weep, 

' This was the wife of Hector, most renowned 

Of the horse-taming Trojans, when they fought 

Around their city.' So shall some one say. 

And thou shalt grieve the more, lamenting him 

Who haply might have kept afar the day 

Of thy captivity. O let the earth 

Be heaped above my head in death before ' 

I hear thy cries as thou art borne away ! " 

So speaking, mighty Hector stretched his arms 
To take the boy ; the boy shrank crying back 
To his fair nurse's bosom, scared to see 
His father helmeted in glittering brass, 
And eying with affright the horsehair plume 
That grimly nodded from the lofty crest. 
At this both parents in their fondness laughed ; 
And hastily the mighty Hector took 
The helmet from his brow and laid it down 
Gleaming upon the ground, and, having kissed 
His darling son and tossed him up in play. 
Prayed thus to Jove and all the gods of heaven: — 

" O Jupiter and all ye deities. 
Vouchsafe that this my son may yet become 
Among the Trojans eminent like me. 
And nobly rule in Ilium. May they say, 
' This man is greater than his father was ! ' 
When they behold him from the battle-field 
Bring back the bloody spoil of the slain foe, — 
That so his mother may be glad at heart." 

So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouse 
He gave the boy ; she on her fragrant breast 
Received him, weeping as she smiled. The chief 
Beheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothed 
Her forehead gently with his hand, and said : — 

" Sorrow not thus, beloved one, for me. 
No living man can send me to the shades 
Before my time ; no man of woman bom, 
Coward or brave, can shun his destiny. 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD, 



73 



But go thou home, and tend thy labors there, — 
The web, the distaff, — and command thy maids 
To speed the work. The cares of war pertain 
To all men born in Troy, and most to me." 
Thus speaking, mighty Hector took again 
His helmet, shadowed with the horsehair plume, 
While homeward his beloved consort went, 
Oft looking back, and shedding many tears. 
Soon was she in the spacious palace-halls 
Of the man-queller Hector. There she found 
A troop of maidens, — with them all she shared 
Her grief ; and all in his own house bewailed 
The living Hector, whom they thought no more 
To see returning from the battle-field, 
Safe from the rage and weapons of the Greeks. 

Bryanfs Translation, Book VI. 



THE ODYSSEY. 

" The surge and thunder of the Odyssey." 

THE Odyssey relates the adventures of Ulysses on his 
return to Ithaca after the Trojan war. 

It consists of twenty-four books, the first four of which are 
sometimes known as the Telemachia, because Telemachus is 
the principal figure. 

The difference in style of the Iliad and Odyssey has caused 
some critics to assert that the latter is not the work of Homer ; 
this is accounted for, however, by the difference of subject, 
and it is probable that the Odyssey, though of a later date, is 
the work of the same hand, " the work of Homer's old age, 
— an epic bathed in a mellow light of sunset." 

If the Odyssey alone had come down to us, its authorship 
would have passed unquestioned, for the poem is so com- 
pact, its plot so carefully planned and so skilfully carried 
out, that there can be no doubt that it is the work of one 
hand. 

The Odyssey is as great a work of art as the Iliad, and is 
even more popular; for the Odyssey is a domestic romance, 
and as such appeals to a larger audience than a tale of 
war alone, — the romance of the wandering Ulysses and 
the faithful Penelope. Interwoven with it are the ever-pop- 
ular fairy tales of Ulysses's wanderings and descriptions of 
home Hfe. It is marked by the same pagan enjoyment of 
life, the same freshness and charm that lend enchantment 
to the Iliad. 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Odyssey. F. B. 
Jevons's History of Greek Literature, 1886, pp. 17-25 ; A. 
Lang's Homer and the Epic, 1893, chaps. 8-13 ; J. A. 



76 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Symonds's Studies of the Greek Poets, ed. 3, 1893 ; J. E. 
Harrison's Myths of the Odyssey in Art and Literature, 1882 ; 
W. J. Stillman's On the Track of Ulysses, 1888 ; F. W. New- 
man's The Authorship of the Odyssey (in his Miscellanies, 
vol. V.) ; J. Spence's Essay on Pope's Translation of the 
Odyssey, 1837. 

Standard English Translations, the Odyssey. The 
Odyssey, Tr. into English blank verse by W. C. Bryant, 
2 vols., 187 1 ; The Odyssey, Tr. according to the Greek, 
with introduction and notes by George Chapman, ed. 2, 
2 vols., 1874; The Odyssey, Tr. by William Cowper; The 
Odyssey, Tr. by G. H. Palmer, 1894 (prose) ; The Odyssey, 
Tr. by Alexander Pope, with notes by Rev. T. W. A. 
Buckley, n. d. ; The Odyssey, Tr. by S. H. Butcher and 
A. Lang, 1879 (prose). 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 77 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 

After the fall of Troy, Agamemnon returned to Argos, 
where he was treacherously slain by ^gisthus, the corrupter 
of his wife ; Menelaus reached Sparta in safety, laden with 
spoil and reunited to the beautiful Helen ; Nestor resumed 
the rule of Pylos, but Ulysses remained absent from Ithaca, 
where his wife Penelope still grieved for him, though stead- 
fast in her behef that he would return. One hundred 
and fourteen suitors, princes from Dulichium, Samos, Zacyn- 
thus, and Ithaca, determined to wed Penelope that they 
might obtain the rich possessions of Ulysses, spent their time 
in revelling in his halls and wasting his wealth, thinking in 
this way to force Penelope to wed some one of them. 

Penelope, as rich in resources as was her crafty husband, 
announced to them that she would wed when she had woven 
a funeral garment for Laertes, the father of Ulysses. During 
the day she wove industriously, but at night she unravelled 
what she had done that day, so that to the expectant suitors 
the task seemed interminable. After four years her artifice 
was revealed to the suitors by one of her maids, and she was 
forced to find other excuses to postpone her marriage. In 
the mean time, her son Telemachus, now grown to manhood, 
disregarded by the suitors on account of his youth, and 
treated as a child by his mother, was forced to sit helpless in 
his halls, hearing the insults of the suitors and seeing his rich 
possessions wasted. 

Having induced Jove to end the sufferings of Ulysses, 
Pallas caused Hermes to be dispatched to Calypso's isle to 
release the hero, while she herself descended to Ithaca in the 
guise of Mentes. There she was received courteously by the 
youth, who sat unhappy among the revellers. At a table apart 
from the others, Telemachus told the inquiring stranger who 
they were who thus wasted his patrimony. 

" Something must needs be done speedily," said Mentes, 
" and I shall tell thee how to thrust them from thy palace 



78 NATIONAL EPICS. 

gates. Take a ship and go to Pylos to inquire of the aged 
and wise Nestor what he knows of thy father's fate. Thence 
go to Menelaus, in Sparta ; he was the last of all the mailed 
Greeks to return home. If thou hear encouraging tidings, 
wait patiently for a year. At the end of that time, if thy 
father come not, celebrate his funeral rites, let thy mother 
wed again, and take immediate steps for the destruction of 
the suitor band. Thou art no longer a child ; the time has 
come for thee to assert thyself and be a man." 

Telemachus, long weary of inactivity, was pleased with this 
advice, and at once announced to the incredulous suitors his 
intention of going to learn the fate of his father. A boat 
was procured and provided with a crew by the aid of Pallas, 
and provisioned from the secret store-room guarded by the 
old and faithful servant Eurycleia. From among the treasures 
of Ulysses — garments, heaps of gold and brass, and old and 
delicate wines — ; Telemachus took sweet wine and meal to 
be conveyed to the ship at night, and instructing Eurycleia 
not to tell his mother of his absence until twelve days had 
passed, he departed as soon as sleep had overcome the 
suitors. Pallas, in the guise of Mentor, accompanied him. 

His courage failed him, however, as they approached the 
shore of Pylos, where Nestor and his people were engaged in 
making a great sacrifice to Neptune. " How shall I approach 
the chief? " he asked. " 111 am I trained in courtly speech." 

But, encouraged by Pallas, he greeted the aged Nestor, 
and after he and his companion had assisted in the sacrifice 
and partaken of the banquet that followed, he revealed his 
name and asked for tidings of his father, boldly and confi- 
dently, as befitted the son of Ulysses. The old king could 
tell him nothing, however. After Troy had fallen, a dissen- 
sion had rent the camp, and part of the Greeks had re- 
mained with Agamemnon, part had sailed with Menelaus. 
Sailing with Menelaus, Nestor had parted with Diomed at 
Argos, and had sailed on to Pylos. Since his return he had 
heard of the death of Agamemnon, and of the more recent 
return of Menelaus, but had heard no tidings of Ulysses, 
who had remained with Agamemnon. 



THE STORY OP THE ODYSSEY. 



79 



To Menelaus he advised Telemachus to go, warning him, 
however, not to remain long away from Ithaca, leaving his 
home in the possession of rude and lawless men. 

In a car provided by Nestor and driven by his son, Pisis- 
tratus, Telemachus reached Sparta after a day and a night's 
rapid travel, and found Menelaus celebrating the nuptial 
feast of his daughter Hermione, betrothed at Troy to the 
son of Achilles, and his son Megapenthes, wedded to the 
daughter of Alector. The two young men were warmly 
welcomed, and were invited to partake of the banquet with- 
out being asked their names. After the feast they wondered 
at the splendor of the halls of gold, amber, and ivory, the 
polished baths, and the fleecy garments in which they had 
been arrayed ; but Menelaus assured them that all his wealth 
was small compensation to him for the loss of the warriors 
who had fallen before Troy, and above all, of the great 
Ulysses, whose fate he knew not. Though Telemachus's 
tears fell at his father's name, Menelaus did not guess to 
whom he spoke, until Helen, entering from her perfumed 
chamber, saw the likeness between the stranger and the 
babe whom Ulysses had left when he went to Troy, and 
greeted their guest as Telemachus. 

Then they sat in the splendid hall and talked of Troy, — 
Menelaus broken by his many toils, Helen beautiful as 
when she was rapt away by Paris, weaving with her golden 
distaff wound with violet wool, and the two young men, who 
said little, but listened to the wondrous tale of the wander- 
ings of Menelaus. And they spoke of Ulysses : of the times 
when he had proved his prudence as well as his craft ; of 
his entering Troy as a beggar and revealing the Achaian 
plots to Helen ; of how he had prevented their breaking out 
of the wooden horse too soon. Then the king told of his 
interview with the Ancient of the Deep, in which he had 
learned the fate of his comrades ; of Agamemnon's death, 
and of the detention of Ulysses on Calypso's isle, where he 
languished, weeping bitterly, because he had no means of 
escape. 

This information gained, Telemachus was anxious to re- 



8o NATIONAL EPICS. 

turn home ; but his host detained him until he and Helen 
had descended to their fragrant treasure-chamber and 
brought forth rich gifts, — a double cup of silver and gold 
wrought by Vulcan, a shining silver beaker, and an em- 
broidered robe for his future bride. 

Mercury, dispatched by Jove, descended to the distant 
isle of Calypso, and v^^arned the bright-haired nymph, whom 
he found weaving in her charmed grotto, that she must let 
her mortal lover go or brave the wrath of the gods. The 
nymph, though loath to part with her lover, sought out the 
melancholy Ulysses, where he sat weeping beside the deep, 
and giving him tools, led him to the forest and showed him 
where to fell trees with which to construct a raft. His labor 
finished, she provided the hero with perfumed garments, a 
full store of provisions, and saw him set forth joyfully upon 
the unknown deep. 

For seventeen days his journey was a prosperous one ; 
but on the eighteenth day, just as the land of the Phaeacians 
came in sight, Neptune returned from Ethiopia, and angry 
at what the gods had contrived to do in his absence, deter- 
mined to make the hero suffer as much as possible before he 
attained the promised end of his troubles. 

Soon a great storm arose and washed Ulysses from the 
raft. Clinging to its edge, buffeted here and there by the 
angry waves, he would have suffered death had not a kind 
sea nymph urged him to lay aside his heavy garments, leave 
the raft, and binding a veil that she gave him about his chest, 
swim to the land of the Phaeacians. The coast was steep 
and rocky, but he found at last a little river, and swimming 
up it, landed, and fell asleep among some warm heaps of 
dried leaves. 

The Phaeacians were a people closely allied to the gods, 
to whom they were very dear. They had at one time been 
neighbors of the Cyclops, from whose rudeness they had 
suffered so much that they were compelled to seek a distant 
home. They were a civilized people, who had achieved 
great results as sailors, having remarkably swift and well- 
equipped ships. 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 8i 

To the Princess Nausicaa, beautiful as a goddess, Pallas 
appeared in a dream the night that Ulysses lay sleeping on 
the isle, warning her that since her wedding day was near at 
hand, when all would need fresh garments, it was fitting that 
she should ask her father's permission to take the garments 
of the household to the river side to wash them. 

Nausicaa's father willingly granted his permission, and or- 
dered the strong car in which to carry away the soiled gar- 
ments. A hamper of food and a skin of wine were added 
by her mother, as the princess cHmbed into the chariot and 
drove towards the river, followed by her maids. 

When the garments had been washed in the lavers hol- 
lowed out by the river side, and the lunch had been eaten, 
the maids joined in a game of ball. Joyous they laughed 
and frolicked, like Dian's nymphs, until they roused the 
sleeper under the olive-trees on the hillside. 

All save Nausicaa fled affrighted as he came forth to speak 
to them, covered with sea foam, his nakedness hidden only 
by a leafy branch woven round his waist ; but she, strength- 
ened by the goddess, heard his story, and provided him with 
clothing and materials for the bath. When he appeared, 
cleansed from the sea foam, and made more handsome by 
the art of Pallas, Nausicaa's pity was changed to admira- 
tion, and she wished that she might have a husband like 
him. 

Food and wine were set before the hero, and while he re- 
freshed himself the dried clothes were folded and placed in 
the cart. As the princess prepared to go she advised the 
stranger to follow the party until they reached a grove outside 
the city, and to remain there until she had time to reach her 
father's palace, lest some gossip should connect Nausicaa's 
name with that of a stranger. She told him how to find her 
father's palace, and instructed him to win the favor of her 
mother, that he might be received with honor and assisted 
on his homeward way. 

Ulysses obeyed, and when he reached the city gates was 
met by Pallas, in the guise of a virgin with an urn. She 
answered his questions, directed him to the palace, and told 

6 



82 NATIONAL EPICS. 

him to throw himself first at the feet of Queen Arete, who 
was looked on by the people as if she were a goddess. 
Wrapped in a cloud by Pallas, the unseen Ulysses admired 
the spacious halls of Alcinolis. Walls of brass supported 
blue steel cornices, golden doors guarded by gold and silver 
mastiffs opened into the vast hall, along which were ranged 
thrones covered with delicately woven mantles, for which the 
Phaeacian women were famous. 

Around the palace lay a spacious garden filled with pear, 
pomegranate, fig, and apple trees, that knew no change of 
season, but blossomed and bore fruit throughout the year. 
Perennially blooming plants scattered perfume through the 
garden kept fresh by water from two sparkling fountains. 

As Ulysses knelt at the feet of Arete, the cloud enveloping 
him fell away, and all were astonished at the sight of the 
stranger imploring protection. Arete received Ulysses with 
favor, and Alcinolis was so pleased with him that he offered 
him his daughter in marriage, if he was unmarried, a palace 
and riches if he would remain on the island, and a safe pas- 
sage home if he desired to leave them. The king then in- 
vited the chiefs of the isle to a great banquet in honor of his 
guest. At this banquet Demodocus, the blind minstrel, sang 
so touchingly of the heroes of the Trojan war that Ulysses 
was moved to tears, a fact observed by the king alone. 
After the feast the guests displayed their strength in athletic 
games ; and Ulysses, provoked by the taunts of the ill-bred 
Euryalus, cast a broader, heavier quoit than had yet been 
used far beyond the mark. The Phseacians were amazed, 
and the king confessed that his people were weak in athletic 
sports but excelled in the dance, — a statement to which 
Ulysses readily agreed when he saw the beautiful and grace- 
ful dance of the princes Laodamas and Halius to the music 
of Demodocus's silver harp. 

When the games were over, all the chiefs presented Ulysses 
with garments and with talents of gold, for the reception of 
which Arete gave a beautiful chest. As he corded up the 
chest, and stepped forth to the banquet, refreshed from the 
bath, Nausicaa, standing beside a pillar, bade him farewell. 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 83 

'' Remember, in thy native land, O stranger, that thou owest 
thy life to me." 

Wlien they sat again in the banqueting hall, Ulysses be- 
sought Demodocus to sing again of the fall of Troy ; but 
when the minstrel sang of the strategy of the wooden horse 
which wrought the downfall of Troy, the hero was again 
melted to tears, — and this time his host, unable to repress 
his curiosity, asked him to reveal his name and history. 

" Thou hast spoken, O king, and I proceed to tell the story 
of my calamitous voyage from Troy ; for I am Ulysses, widely 
known among men for my cunning devices. Our first stop 
was among the Ciconians, whose city we laid waste. Here, 
in spite of my warning, my men tarried to drink red wine 
until the Ciconians had had time to recruit their forces, and, 
attacking us, slew six men from each galley. When we who 
survived reached the land of the lotus-eaters, some of my 
men ate of the sweet plant, after which a man thinks never 
more of wife, or friends, or home ; and it was with the utmost 
difficulty that we succeeded in dragging them to the ships. 

" At the Cyclopean land I myself, with a few of my men, 
disembarked, and went up to seek the inhabitants and con- 
ciliate them with gifts of food and wine. The Cyclops were 
huge one-eyed giants who did not cultivate the land, had no 
government, and cared nought for the gods. The first cave 
to which we came was empty, and we went in to await the 
arrival of the owner, appeasing our appetites, meanwhile, with 
some of his cheeses. Presently he arrived, and after he had 
closed up the entrance of the cave with a huge stone, and 
had milked his goats, he questioned us as to who we were. 
Our story told, he seized two of ray companions, dashed 
their heads against the rocks, and devoured them. The next 
morning, after devouring two others, he drove out his flocks, 
leaving us shut up in the huge cave. All that day I revolved 
plans for his destruction and our escape ; and at last, draw- 
ing lots with my companions to determine who should assist 
me, I determined, with their aid, to bore out his great eye 
with a huge olive-wood stick that I found in the cave. We 
spent the day sharpening it and hardening it in the fire, and 



84 NATIONAL EPICS. 

at night hid it under a heap of litter. Two more of my men 
made his evening meal, after which I plied him with the wine 
I had brought, until, softened by the liquor, he inquired my 
name, assuring me that as return for my gift, he would de- 
vour me last. My name, I told him, was Noman. 

" As soon as he had fallen into a drunken slumber I put 
the stake to heat, and, strengthening the courage of my men, 
I drew it forth and plunged it into his eye. Steadily we 
spun it round until the monster, screaming with pain, drew 
it forth, crying to the other Cyclops to conie to his aid. 
When they, from without, questioned who hurt him, he re- 
plied, ' Noman destroyeth me by guile.' ' If it is " No- 
man," ' said they, departing, 'it must be Jove. Then pray 
to Neptune.' 

" During the night I tied together the rams, three and 
three with osier twigs, and instructed my comrades, as he 
drove them out, to cling under the middle one. I hid my- 
self under the fleecy belly of a huge ram, the finest of the 
flock. He touched their backs as he drove them out, but he 
did not penetrate my cunning, and we all escaped. After 
we had driven the flock on board, however, and had pushed 
out our galley, I could not forbear a taunting shout, at which 
he hurled a huge fragment of rock after us, just missing our 
galley. 

" With ^olus, King of the Winds, we remained a month, 
reciting the events connected with the fall of Troy. So 
pleased was the king with my story, that on our departure 
he presented me with a bag tied up with a silver cord, which 
contained the adverse winds. One day, as I slumbered, 
my unhappy sailors, suspecting some treasure concealed 
therein, opened it, and we were immediately blown back to 
y^olus's isle, from which he, enraged at our folly, indignantly 
drove us. 

" At the land of the L^strygonians all our galleys were lost 
and our men devoured by the cannibal inhabitants, with the 
exception of my own ship, which by good fortune I had 
moored without the harbor. Overcome with grief, we rowed 
wearily along until we arrived at the land of Circe. With 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 



8S 



caution born of experience, we drew lots to see who should 
venture into the unknown isle. The lot fell to Eurylochus, 
who, with twenty-two brave men, went forward to the fair 
palace of Circe, around which fawned tamed mountain lions 
and wolves. Within sat the bright-haired goddess, singing 
while she threw her shuttle through the beautiful web she 
was weaving. 

" All the men entered the palace at her invitation but 
Eurylochus, who, suspecting some guile, remained without. 
He saw his comrades led within, seated upon thrones and 
banqueted; but no sooner was the feast over, than she 
touched them with her wand, and transformed them into 
swine that she drove scornfully to their cells. 

'' Eurylochus hastened back to our ships with the sorrow- 
ful tidings. As soon as grief had permitted him to tell the 
story, I flung my sword over my shoulders and hastened 
away to the palace. As I entered the valley, not far from the 
palace, I was met by a youth, none save the Argus-queller 
himself, who revealed to me Circe's guile, and presented me 
with a plant, the moly, which would enable me to withstand 
her charms. 

" The goddess received me kindly, seated me upon a 
throne, and invited me to feast with her. After the feast she 
struck me with her wand, as she had done my comrades, 
ordering me to go to my sty; but when I remained un- 
changed, she perceived that her guest was Ulysses, whose 
coining had long been foretold to her. 

" Softened by her entreaties, I sheathed my sword, after 
having made her promise to release my friends and do us 
no further harm. Then the others were called from the 
ships, and we banqueted together. 

"Time passed so happily on Circe's isle that we lingered a 
whole year, until, roused by the words of my friends, I an- 
nounced my intended departure, and was told by Circe that 
I must first go to the land of the dead to get instructions 
as to my future course from Tiresias. Provided with the 
proper sacrifices by Circe, we set sail for the land of the 
Cimmerians, on the confines of Oceanus. The sacrifices 



S6 NATIONAL EPICS. 

having been duly performed, the spirits appeared, — Elpenor, 
my yet unburied comrade, whose body lay on Circe's isle, 
my own dead mother, and the Theban seer, Tiresias, with 
his golden wand. 'Neptune is wroth with thee,' he said, 
' but thou mayst yet return if thou and thy comrades leave 
undisturbed the cattle of the Sun. If thou do not, de- 
struction awaits thee. If thou escape and return home 
it will be after long journeyings and much suffering, and 
there thou wilt slay the insolent suitor crew that destroy thy 
substance and wrong thy household.' After Tiresias had 
spoken I lingered to speak with other spiiits, — my mother, 
Ajax, Antiope, Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, and Anti- 
lochus. Having conversed with all these, we set sail for 
Cjrce's isle, and thence started again on our homeward 
voyage. 

" Circe had instructed me to stop the ears of my men with 
wax as we approached the isle of the Sirens, and to have 
myself tied to the boat that I might not leap into the ocean 
to go to the beautiful maidens who sang so entrancingly. 
We therefore escaped without adding our bones to those on 
the isle of the Sirens, and came next to Scylla and Charyb- 
dis. Charybdis is a frightful whirlpool. The sailor who 
steers too far away in his anxiety to escape it, is seized by 
the six arms of the monster Scylla and lifted to her cavern 
to be devoured. We avoided Charybdis ; but as we looked 
down into the abyss, pale with fear, six of my comrades 
were seized by Scylla and snatched up to her cave. 

" As we neared the Island of the Sun I told my comrades 
again of the warning of Tiresias, and begged them to sail 
past without stopping. I was met, however, by the bitterest 
reproaches, and at last consented to a landing if they would 
bind themselves by a solemn oath not to touch the cattle of 
the Sun. They promised, but when adverse winds prolonged 
our stay and food became scarce, fools, madmen, they slew 
the herds, and in spite of the terrible omens, the meat low- 
ing on the spits, the skins crawling, they feasted for six days. 
When, on the seventh, the tempest ceased and we sailed 
away, we went to our destruction. I alone was saved, cling- 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 87 

ing to the floating timbers for nine long days, until on 
the tenth I reached Calypso's isle, Ogygia, where, out of 
love for me, the mighty goddess cherished me for seven 
years." 

The Phaeacians were entranced by this recital, and in ad- 
dition to their former gifts, heaped other treasures upon the 
"master of stratagems " that he might return home a wealthy 
man. The swift ship was filled with his treasures, and after 
the proper sacrifices and long farewells, the chieftain em- 
barked. It was morn when the ship arrived in Ithaca, and 
Ulysses, worn out from his long labors, was still asleep. 
Stopping at the little port of Phorcys, where the steep shores 
stretch inward and a spreading olive-tree o'ershadows the 
grotto of the nymphs, the sailors lifted out Ulysses, laid him 
on the ground, and piling up his gifts under the olive-tree, 
set sail for Phseacia. But the angry Neptune smote the 
ship as it neared the town and changed it to a rock, thus ful- 
filling an ancient prophecy that Neptune would some day 
wreak his displeasure on the Phaeacians for giving to every 
man who came to them safe escort home. 

When Ulysses awoke he did not recognize the harbor, and 
thinking that he had been treated with deceit, he wept bit- 
terly. Thus Pallas, in the guise of a young shepherd, found 
him, and showed him that it was indeed his own dear land. 
She helped him to conceal his treasures in the grotto, and 
told him that Telemachus was even now away on a voyage 
of inquiry concerning him, and his wife was weeping over 
his absence and the insolence of the suitors. But he must 
act with caution. To give him an opportunity to lay his 
plans for the destruction of these men without being recog- 
nized, she changed him to a beggar, wrinkled and old, and 
clad in ragged, soiled garments. Then directing him to the 
home of his old herdsman, she hastened to warn Telemachus 
to avoid the ship the suitors had stationed to destroy him on 
his way home. 

The old Eumaeus was sitting in his lodge without whose 
hedge lay the many sties of swine that were his care. He 
greeted the beggar kindly, and spread food before him, 



88 NATIONAL EPICS. 

lamenting all the while the absence of his noble master and 
the wickedness of the suitors. Ulysses told him that he was 
a wanderer who had heard of his master, and could speak 
surely of his return. Though Eumaeus regarded this as an 
idle speech spoken to gain food and clothing, he continued 
in his kindness to his guest. 

To this lodge came Telemachus after the landing of his 
ship, that he might first hear from Eumseus the news from 
the palace, — Telemachus, who had grown into sudden man- 
liness from his experience among other men. He also was 
kind to the beggar, and heard his story. While he remained 
with the beggar, Eumaeus having gone to acquaint Penelope 
of her son's return, Pallas appearing, touched the beggar with 
her golden wand, and Ulysses, with the presence of a god, 
stood before his awed and wondering son. 

Long and passionate was their w^eeping as the father told 
the son of his sufferings, and the son told of the arrogance 
of the one hundred and fourteen suitors. 

" There are we two with Pallas and her father Jove against 
them," replied his father. " Thinkest thou we need to fear 
with two such allies?" 

On the day after Telemachus's return, Ulysses, accom- 
panied by Eumaeus, visited the palace. No one recognized 
him except his old dog, Argus, long neglected and devoured 
by vermin, who, at the sound of his master's voice, drew near, 
wagged his tail, and fell dead. 

According to their carefully laid plans, Telemachus feigned 
not to know his father, but sent to the beggar some food. 
Ulysses asked the same of the suitors, but was repulsed 
with taunts and insults, Antinoiis, the most insolent, striking 
him with a footstool. 

To Penelope, weaving in her chamber, was carried the 
story of the beggar at whom the abhorred Antinoiis had 
thrown a stool, and she sent for him to ask if he had tidings 
of Ulysses. He refused to go to her, however, until the 
suitors had withdrawn for the night ; and as he sat among the 
revellers, he caught the first glimpse of his wife, as she came 
down among her maids, to reproach her son for exposing 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 89 

himself to danger among the suitors, and for allowing the 
beggar to be injured. 

When darkness fell and the hall was deserted, Telemachus, 
with the assistance of his father, removed all the weapons 
from the walls. After Telemachus had retired to his cham- 
ber, Penelope came down, and sitting upon her ivory throne 
conversed with the beggar, questioning him about his story 
until he was driven to invent tales that seemed like truth, 
and asking about her husband while the tears ran down her 
fair cheeks. By a great effort Ulysses kept his tears from 
falling as he beheld his wife weeping over him ; he assured 
her that her husband would soon return, but he would accept 
no clothing as a reward for his tidings. The aged Eurycleia, 
who was called forth to wash his feet, came near betraying 
her master when she recognized a scar made by a wild boar's 
tusk, but he threatened her into silence. Soon after, Penelope 
and her maids withdrew, and left Ulysses to meditate ven- 
geance through the night. 

The next morning, when the suitors again sat in the ban- 
quet-hall, Penelope descended to them and declared that she 
had determined to give her hand to the one of the suitors 
who could draw the great bow of Ulysses and send the 
arrow through twelve rings set on stakes planted in the ground. 
Up to the polished treasure-chamber she went, and took 
down the great bow given to Ulysses by Iphitus. As she 
took it from its case her tears fell, but she dried them and 
carried it and the steel rings into the hall. Gladly Ulysses 
hailed this hour, for he knew the time had come when he 
should destroy the suitor band. That morn many omens had 
warned him, and he had revealed himself to his faithful men, 
Eumaeus, and Philoetius the master-herdsman, that they 
might assist him. Telemachus, though astonished at his 
mother's decision, first took the bow ; if he succeeded in 
bending it, his mother would not have to leave her home. 
He would have bent the bow at the fourth attempt had not 
his father's glance warned him to yield it to the suitors. 

Although the bow was rubbed and softened with oil, all failed 
in their attempts to draw it ; and when the beggar asked to be 



90 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



allowed to try, their wrath burst forth. What shame would 
be theirs if the beggar succeeded in doing that in which they 
had failed ! But Telemachus, who asserted his rights more 
day by day, insisted that the beggar should try to bend the 
bow, if he so desired. Sending his mother and her maids to 
their bower, he watched his father as he easily bent the 
mighty bow, snapped the cord with a sound at which the 
suitors grew pale, and sent the arrow through the rings. 
Then casting aside his rags, the supposed beggar sprang 
upon the threshold, and knowing that by his orders, Eumseus, 
Philoetius, and Eurycleia had secured the portals so that 
escape was impos^sibie, he sent his next shaft through the 
throat of Antinoiis. " Dogs ! ye thought I never would re- 
turn ! Ye dreaded not the gods while ye devoured my sub- 
stance and pursued my wife ! , Now vengeance is mine ! 
Destruction awaits you all ! " 

Too late Eurymachus sprang up and besought the monarch 
to grant them their lives if they made good their waste and 
returned to their homes. Ulysses had brooded too long 
over his injuries ; his wife and son had suffered too many 
years from their persecutions for him to think of mercy. 
Eurymachus fell by the next brass-tipped shaft, and for every 
arrow in the quiver a suitor lay dead until the quiver was 
empty. Then Telemachus, Philoetius, and Eumseus, provided 
with weapons and armor, stood forth with Ulysses, and with- 
stood the suitors until all were slain, save Medon the herald 
and Phemius the minstrel, for both of whom Telemachus 
pleaded, since they had been coerced by the others. Giving 
the destruction of the false serving-maids to his three assist- 
ants, Ulysses ordered the hall to be cleansed, and after 
greeting his faithful servants and weeping with them, sent 
Eurycleia up to the bower to tell Penelope that her master 
had at last arrived. 

Penelope was too fearful of deceit to believe instantly that 
the beggar sitting beside the lofty column was her husband, 
though as she looked at him wonderingly, she sometimes 
fancied that she saw Ulysses, and again could not believe 
that it was he. So long was she silent that Telemachus re- 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 91 

preached her for her hardness of heart ; but Ulysses, better 
guessing the difficulty, ordered that all should take the bath 
and array themselves in fresh garments while the harper 
played gay melodies, that those passing should not guess the 
slaughter that had occurred, but should fancy that a wedding 
was being celebrated. When Ulysses again appeared, re- 
freshed and handsomely attired, Penelope, still uncertain, 
determined to test his knowledge of her chamber. " Bear 
out the bed made by his own hands," she commanded 
Eurycleia, " that he may rest for the night." 

"Who has dared move my bed?" cried Ulysses; "the 
couch framed upon the stump of an olive-tree, round which 
I built a stone chamber ! I myself cunningly fitted it to- 
gether, and adorned it with gold, silver, and ivory." 

Then Penelope, who knew that no one save herself, 
Ulysses, and one handmaiden had ever seen the interior 
of that chamber, fell on his neck and welcomed the wanderer 
home. " Pray, be not angry with me, my husband. Many 
times my heart has trembled lest some fraud be practised on 
me, and I should receive a stranger to my heart." 

Welcome as land to the shipwrecked mariner was Ulysses 
to Penelope. Both wept as he held her in his arms, and the 
rosy-fingered morn would have found them thus, weeping, 
with her fair, white arms encircling his neck, had not Pallas 
prolonged the night that he might relate to her the story of 
his wanderings. Then, happy in their reunion, the years of 
sorrow all forgotten, sleep overcame them. At dawn, bidding 
a brief farewell to his wife, Ulysses went forth to visit his 
father, and settle as best he might the strife which he knew 
would result from the slaughter of the suitors. 

After Ulysses' mother had died of grief at the prolonged 
absence of her son, Laertes passed his days wretchedly in a 
little habitation remote from the palace. There Ulysses 
found him and made himself known ; and there he, Laertes, 
Telemachus, the aged Dolius, and his six sons faced the 
people who had been roused to battle by the speech of 
Eupeithes, whose son Aiitinoiis had been the first of the 
suitors to fall by the hand of Ulysses. Not heeding the 



92 NATIONAL EPICS. 

warning of the herald Medon that the suitors had been slain 
justly, they attacked Ulysses and his handful of followers. 

Eupeithes fell first by the spear of Laertes, and a great 
slaughter would have ensued, had not the combatants been 
silenced by the voice of Pallas, who commanded all strife to 
cease. Frightened by this divine command, the enemy fled ; 
and Pallas, descending in the form of Mentor, plighted a 
covenant between them that Ulysses might Hve peacefully 
among them the remainder of his hfe. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY. 

The Palace of Alcinous. 

Ulysses, having been directed by Nausicaa, reached the 
gate of the cit}^ and was there met by Pallas in the guise of a 
maiden with an urn, who instructed him how to approach the 
king and queen. He passed through the town, wrapped in a 
cloud by Pallas, and paused on the threshold of Alcinoiis's 
palace. 

For on every side beneath 
The lofty roof of that magnanimous king 
A glory shone as of the sun or moon. 
There from the threshold, on each side, were walls 
Of brass that led towards the inner rooms, 
With blue steel cornices. The doors within 
The massive building were of gold, and posts 
Of silver on the brazen threshold stood, 
And silver was the lintel, and above 
Its architrave was gold ; and on each side 
Stood gold and silver mastiffs, the rare work 
Of Vulcan's practised skill, placed there to guard 
The house of great Alcinoiis, and endowed 
With deathless life, that knows no touch of age. 
Along the walls within, on either side, 
And from the threshold to the inner rooms. 
Were firmly planted thrones on which were laid 
Delicate mantles, woven by the hands 
Of women. The Phasacian princes here 
Were seated ; here they ate and drank, and held 
Perpetual banquet. Slender forms of boys 
In gold upon tlie shapely altars stood. 
With blazing torches in their hands to light 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 



93 



At eve the palace guests ; while fifty maids 

Waited within the halls, where some in querns 

Ground small the yellow grain ; some wove the web 

Or twirled the spindle, sitting, with a quick 

Light motion, like the aspen's glancing leaves. 

The well-wrought tissues glistened as with oil. 

As far as the Phseacian race excel 

In guiding their swift galleys o'er the deep, 

So far the women in their woven work 

Surpass all others. Pallas gives them skill 

In handiwork and beautiful design. 

Without the palace-court and near the gate, 

A spacious garden of four acres lay. 

A hedge enclosed it round, and lofty trees 

Flourished in generous growth within, — the pear 

And the pomegranate, and the apple-tree 

With its fair fniitage, and tlie luscious fig 

And olive always green. The fruit they bear 

Falls not, nor ever fails in winter time 

Nor summer, but is yielded all the year. 

The ever-blowing west-wind causes some 

To swell and some to ripen ; pear succeeds 

To pear ; to apple, apple, grape to grape, 

Fig ripens after fig. A fruitful field 

Of vines was planted near ; in part it lay 

Open and basking in the sun, which dried 

The soil, and here men gathered in the grapes, 

And there they trod the wine-press. Farther on 

Were grapes unripened yet, which just had cast 

The flower, and others still which just began 

To redden. At the garden's furthest bound 

Were beds of many plants that all the year 

Bore flowers. There gushed two fountains : one of them 

Ran wandering through the field ; the other flowed 

Beneath the threshold to the palace-court, 

And all the people filled their vessels there. 

Such were tlie blessings which the gracious gods 

Bestowed on King Alcinoiis and his house. 

Bryajifs Translation^ Book VII. 



The Bending of the Bow. 

Penelope, weary of the importunities of the suitors, deter- 
mined to end the contest by giving them the bow of Ulysses 
and allowing the one who could successfully send the arrow 
through the steel rings to become her husband. Having an- 



94 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



nounced her intention, she ascended the stairs to the treasure 
chamber, where the bow was kept. 

Now when the glorious lady reached the room, 
And stood upon tlie threshold, wrought of oak 
And polished by the workman's cunning hand, 
Who stretched the line upon it, and set up 
Its posts, and hung its shining doors, she loosed 
With a quick touch the thong that held the ring. 
Put in the key, and with a careful aim 
Struck back the sounding bolts. As when a bull 
Roars in the field, such sound the beautiful doors, 
Struck with the key, gave forth, and instantly 
They opened to her. Up the lofty floor 
She stepped, where stood the coffer that contained 
The perfumed garments. Reaching forth her hand, 
The queen took down the bow, that hung within 
Its sliining case, and sat her down, and laid 
The case upon her knees, and, drawing forth 
The monarch's bow, she wept aloud. As soon 
As that new gush of tears had ceased to fall. 
Back to the hall she went, and that proud throng 
Of suitors, bearing in her hand the bow 
Unstrung, and quiver, where the arrows lay 
Many and deadly. Her attendant maids 
Brought also down a coffer, where were laid 
Much brass and steel, provided by the king 
For games like these. The glorious lady then. 
In presence of the suitors, stood beside 
The columns that upheld the stately roof. 
She held a lustrous veil before her cheeks, 
And vi'hile on either side of her a maid 
Stood modestly, bespake the suitors thus : — 

" Hear, noble suitors ! ye who throng these halls, 
And eat and drink from day to day, while long 
My husband has been gone ; j'our sole excuse 
For all this lawlessness the claim ye make 
That I become a bride. Come then, for now 
A contest is proposed. I bring to you 
The mighty bow that great Ulysses bore. 
Whoe'er among you he may be whose hand 
Shall bend this bow, and send through these twelve rings 
An arrow, him I follow hence, and leave 
This beautiful abode of my young years, 
With all its plenty, — though its memory, 
I think, will haunt me even in my dreams." 

She spake, and bade the master of the swine, 
The good Eumseus, place the bow and rings 
Of hoary steel before the suitor train. 
In tears he bore the bow and laid it down. 



A 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 

The herdsman also wept to see again 
His master's bow. 



He (Telemachus) spake and, rising, from his shoulders 
took 
The purple cloak, and laid the trenchant sword 
Aside; and first he placed the rings of steel 
In order, opening for them in tlie ground 
A long trench by a line, and stamping close 
The earth around them. All admired the skill 
With which he ranged them, never having seen 
The game before. And then he took his place 
Upon the threshold, and essayed the bow ; 
And thrice he made the attempt, and thrice gave o'er, 
Yet hoping still to draw the cord, and send 
An arrow through the rings. He would have drawn 
The bow at the fourth trial, but a nod 
Given by his father caused him to forbear, 
Though eager for the attempt. 



. . . And then Eupeithes' son, 
Antinoiis, to the crowd of suitors said : — 

" Rise one by one, my friends, from right to left. 
Begin where he begins who pours the wine." 
So spake Antinoiis, and the rest approved. 
Then rose Leiodes, son of CEnops, first. 
He was their seer, and always had his seat 
Beside the ample bowl. From deeds of wrong 
He shrank with hatred, and was sore incensed 
Against the suitors all. He took the bow 
And shaft, and, going to the threshold, stood 
And tried the bow, yet bent it not ; it galled 
His hands, for they were soft, and all unused 
To such a task. 

. . . The swineherd went 
Forward along the hall, and, drawing near 
The wise Ulysses, gave into his hands 
The bow. 



. . . but when the wary chief 
Had poised and shrewdly scanned the mighty bow. 
Then, as a singer, skilled to play the harp. 
Stretches with ease on its new fastenings 
A string, the twisted entrails of a sheep. 
Made fast at either end, so easily 
Ulysses bent that mighty bow. He took 
And drew the cord with his right hand ; it twanged 
With a clear sound as when a swallow screams. 



95 



96 NATIONAL EPICS. 

The suitors were dismayed, and all grew pale. 
Jove in loud thunder gave a sign from heaven. 
The much-enduring chief, Ulysses, heard 
With joy the friendly omen, which the son 
Of crafty Saturn sent him. He took up 
A winged arrow, that before him lay 
Upon a table drawn ; the others still 
Were in the quiver's womb ; the Greeks were yet 
To feel them. This he set with care against 
The middle of the bow, and toward him drew 
The cord and arrow-notch, just where he sat, 
And aiming opposite, let fly the shaft. 
He missed no ring of all ; from first to last 
The brass-tipped arrow threaded every one. 
Then to Telemachus Ulysses said : — 

" Telemachus, the stranger sitting here 
Hath not disgraced thee. I have neither missed 
The rings, nor found it hard to bend the bow ; 
Nor has my manly strength decayed, as these 
Who seek to bring me to contempt pretend ; 
And now the hour is come when we prepare 
A supper for the Achaians, while the day 
Yet lasts, and after supper the delights 
Of song and harp, which nobly grace a feast." 

He spake, and nodded to Telemachus, 
His well-beloved son, who girded on 
His trenchant sword, and took in hand his spear, 
And, armed with glittering brass for battle, came 
And took his station by his father's seat. 

Then did Ulysses cast his rags aside, 
And, leaping to the threshold, took his stand 
On its broad space, with bow and quiver filled 
With arrows. At his feet the hero poured 
The winged shafts, and to the suitors called : — 

" That difficult strife is ended. Now I take 
Another mark, which no man yet has hit. 
Now I shall see if I attain my aim, 
And, by the aid of Phoebus, win renown." 

He spake; and, turning, at Antinoiis aimed 
The bitter shaft, — Antinoiis, who just then 
Had grasped a beautiful two- eared cup of gold, 
About to drink the wine. He little thought 
Of wounds and death ; for who, when banqueting 
Among his fellows, could suspect that one 
Alone against so many men would dare. 
However bold, to plan his death, and bring 
On him the doom of fate ? Ulysses struck 
The suitor with the arrow at the throat. 
The paint came through the tender neck behind, 



THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. 97 

Sideways he sank to earth ; his hand let fall 
The cup ; the dark blood in a thick warm stream 
Gushed from the nostrils of the smitten man. 
He spurned the table with his feet, and spilled 
The viands ; bread and roasted meats were flung 
To lie polluted on the floor. Then rose 
The suitors in a tumult, when they saw 
The fallen man ; from all their seats they rose 
Throughout the hall, and to the massive walls 
Looked eagerly; there hung no buckler there, 
No sturdy lance for them to wield. They called 
Then to Ulysses with indignant words : — 

" Stranger ! in evil hour hast thou presumed 
To aim at men ; and thou shalt henceforth bear 
Part in no other contest. Even now 
Is thy destruction close to thee. Thy hand 
Hath slain the noblest youth in Ithaca. 
The vultures shall devour thy flesh for this." 

So each one said ; they deemed he had not slain 
The suitor wittingly ; nor did they see, 
Blind that they were, the doom which in that hour 
Was closing round them all. Then with a frown 
The wise Ulysses looked on them, and said : — 

" Dogs ! ye had thought I never would come back 
From Ilium's coast, and therefore ye devoured 
My substance here, and offered violence 
To my maid-servants, and pursued my wife 
As lovers, while I lived. Ye dreaded not 
The gods who dwell in the great heaven, nor feared 
Vengeance hereafter from the hands of men ; 
And now destruction overhangs you all." 

He spake, and all were pale with fear, and each 
Looked round for some escape from death. 

Bryant's Translation, Books XXI., XXII . 



THE KALEVALA. 

" Songs preserved from distant ages." 

THE national epic of Finland, the Kalevala, or Place 
of Heroes, stands midway between the purely epical 
structure, as exemplified in Homer, and the epic songs of 
certain nations. 

It is a purely pagan epic, and from its complete silence as 
to Finland's neighbors, the Russians, Germans, and Swedes, 
it is supposed to date back at least three thousand years. 

The first attempt to collect Finnish folk-song was made in 
the seventeenth century by Palmskold and Peter Bang. In 
1733, Maxenius pubhshed a volume on Finnish national 
poetry, and in 1745 Juslenius began a collection of national 
poems. Although scholars saw that these collected poems 
were evidently fragments of a Finnish epic, it remained for 
two physicians, Zacharias Topelius and Elias Lonnrot, to col- 
lect the entire poem. Topelius, though confined to his bed 
by illness for eleven years, took down the songs from trav- 
elling merchants brought to his bedside. His collections 
were published in 1822 and 1831. Lonnrot travelled over 
Finland, collecting the songs, which he published, arranged 
in epical form, in 1835. ^ revised edition was published 
in 1849. 

The Kalevala consists of fifty parts, or runes, containing 
twenty-two thousand seven hundred and ninety-three lines. 
Its historical foundation is the contests between the Finns 
and the Lapps. 

Its metre is the " eight syllabled trochaic with the part- 
line echo," alliteration also being used, a metre familiar to 
mk: us through Longfellow's " Hiawatha." 
H The labors of a Wolf are not necessary to show that the 



lOO NATIONAL EPICS. 

compiler. Topelius and Lonnrot were conscientious collec- 
tors and compilers, but they were no Homers, who could fuse 
these disconnected runes into one great poem. The Kale- 
vala recites many events in the lives of different heroes who 
are not types of men, like Rama, or Achilles, or Ulysses, 
but the rude gods of an almost savage people, or rather, men 
in the process of apotheosis, all alike, save in the varying 
degrees of magic power possessed by each. 

The Finnish lays are interesting to us because they are the 
popular songs of a people handed down with few changes 
from one generation to another ; because they would have 
formed the material for a national epic if a great poet had 
arisen ; because of their pictures of ancient customs, and 
particularly the description of the condition of women, and 
because of their frequently beautiful descriptions of nature. 
But because they are simply runes "loosely stitched together" 
we can regard them only with interest and curiosity, not with 
admiration. 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Kalevala. Andrew 
Lang's Homer and the Epic, pp. 412-419; Andrew Lang's 
Kalevala, or the Finnish National Epic (in his Custom 
and Myth), 1885, pp. 156-179; C.J. Ellison's Folk-songs, 
comprised in the Finnish Kalevala, Folk-Lore, 1895, vi. 
pp. 317-352 ; F. C. Cook's Kalevala, Contemporary, 1885, 
xlvii., pp. 683-702 ; Preface of J. M. Crawford's Translation 
of the Kalevala, 189 1. 

Standard English Translations, the Kalevala. The 
Kalevala, Tr. by J. M. Crawford, 2 vols., 1891 ; The Kale- 
vala, Tr. by W. F. Kirby, through the German translation of 
Schiefner ; Selections from the Kalevala, Tr. from a German 
version by J. A. Porter, with an introduction and analysis 
of the Poem, 1868. 



I 



THE STORY OF THE KALE V ALA. loi 



THE STORY OF THE KALEVALA. 

Wainamoinen was born upon the ocean after his mother, 
Ilmatar, daughter of the illimitable Ether, had floated upon 
its surface for more than seven hundred years. During this 
time Ilmatar had created the islands, the rocks, and the con- 
tinents. After eight years of swimming through the ocean, 
studying his surroundings, Wainamoinen left the waters and 
swam to a barren promontory, where he could rest himself on 
dry land and study the sun, the moon, and the starry skies. 
At last he called to him Pellerwoinen, that the slender youth 
might scatter seeds broadcast upon the island, sowing in 
their proper places the birch, the alder, the linden, the wil- 
low, the mountain ash, and the juniper. It was not long 
until the eyes of the sower were gladdened by the sight of 
trees rising above the hitherto barren soil. 

But as Wainamoinen cast his eyes over the place he per- 
ceived that the oak, the tree of heaven, was wanting. The 
acorn planted in the sterile soil developed not until Tursas, 
the giant, arose from the ocean, burned some meadow 
grasses, and raking together the ashes, planted therein the 
acorn, from which soon sprang up a mighty oak-tree whose 
branches hid the sun rays and the starlight. 

The oak-tree must be felled if the land was to prosper, but 
who could fell it ? " Help me, Kape, daughter of the Ether, 
help me, my ancient mother, to uproot this terrible tree that 
shuts out the sunshine," cried Wainamoinen. 

Straightway arose from the ocean a Httle being clad in 
copper, — cap, boots, gloves, and belt. He was no longer 
than a man's forefinger, and the blade of the hatchet at his 
belt was but a finger's breadth. " Art thou divine, or hu- 
man?" queried Wainamoinen. "Tell me who thou art. 
Thou surely hast the bearing of a hero, though so small. 
But thou must be of the race of the pygmies, and therefore 
useless." 



10 2 NATIONAL EPICS. 

" 1 came here to fell the oak," replied the pygmy. " I 
am a god and a hero from the tribes that rule the ocean." 

" Never canst thou lop the branches of this mighty tree," 
replied Wainamoinen. 

As he spoke, the pygmy became a giant ; with one step he 
left the ocean, and stood piercing the clouds with his head. 
He whetted his hatchet on the great rocks, and with three 
steps reached the tree ; with four blows felled it. The trunk 
fell eastward, its tops westward, the leaves to the south, the 
hundred branches to the north. Full of magic power were 
the parts of this tree, and happy was he who possessed him- 
self of some part of it. 

Then vegetation flourished, the birds sang happily in the 
trees, and all was well except that barley was wanting. On 
the ocean strand Wainamoinen discovered the barley seed ; 
and, advised by the birds how to plant it, was soon gratified 
by the sight of the growing barley. His next act was to 
clear the forest ; but he left the slender birch for the birds 
to nest in, thus winning the gratitude of the silver-voiced 
singers. 

In the land of Kalevala, Wainamoinen passed many happy 
years, and the fame of his wonderful songs of wit and 
wisdom spread even to the land of the Lapps, in the 
dismal north, where lived Youkahainen, a young minstrel. 
Against the advice of his parents, the youth, filled with 
jealousy, visited Kalevala, to hold a singing contest with 
Wainamoinen. 

He proudly displayed his wisdom to the old minstrel, who 
laughed at it as " women's tales and children's wisdom," 
and when Youkahainen declared in song that he was present 
at the creation, Wainamoinen called him the prince of liars, 
and himself began to sing. As he sang, the copper-bearing 
mountains, the massive rocks and ledges, trembled, the hills 
re-echoed, and the very ocean heaved with rapture. The 
boaster stood speechless, seeing his sledge transformed into 
reed grass and willows, his beautiful steed changed to a 
statue, his dog to a block of stone, and he himself fast sinking 
in a quicksand. Then comprehending his folly, he begged 



THE STORY OF THE KALE VA LA. 103 

his tormentor to free him. Each precious gift he offered 
for a ransom was refused, until he named his beautiful sister 
Aino. Wainamoinen, happy in the promise of Aino for a 
wife, freed the luckless youth from his enchantment, and 
sent him home. 

Aino's mother was rejoiced to hear that her daughter had 
been promised to the renowned Wainamoinen ; but when 
the beautiful girl learned that she was tied by her brother's 
folly to an old man, she wandered weeping through the 
fields. In vain her mother and father sought to console 
her ; she wept for her vanished childhood, for all her happi- 
ness and hope and pleasure forever gone. To console her 
daughter, the mother told her of a store of beautiful orna- 
ments that she herself had worn in girlhood ; they had been 
given her by the daughters of the Moon and Sun, — gold, 
ribbons, and jewels. Beautifully arrayed in these long-con- 
cealed ornaments, Aino wandered through the fields for 
many days, bewailing her sad fate. On the fourth day, she 
laid her garments on the sea shore, and swam out to the 
standing rock, a little distance from the shore. No sooner 
had she clambered on the rainbow-colored rock than it 
turned and fell to the bottom of the sea, carrying with it 
the weeping maiden, chanting a farewell to her family. The 
fleet and haughty hare bore the news of her death to the 
household, where her unfortunate mother sat weeping, urg- 
ing other mothers never to force their daughters to wed 
against their choice. The tears that rolled down her cheeks 
formed three streamlets, that, growing larger, became tor- 
rents with foaming cataracts. From the cataracts towered 
three pillared rocks upon which rose three hillocks, and 
upon each hillock sprang a birch-tree. On the summit of 
each tree sat a golden bird singing ; and the first sang, for 
three moons, his song of " Love ! O Love ! " the second 
called for six moons, '' Suitor ! Suitor ! " but the third bird 
sang forever his sad song of " Consolation ! Consolation ! " 

Wainamoinen was deeply grieved when he heard of the 
fate of the lovely Aino, and he at once went to angle in the 
deep where dwelt the mermaids, the daughters of Wellarao. 



104 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



After he had fished many days in vain, he caught a wondrous 
salmon, larger and more beautiful than he had ever before 
caught. But as he took out his silver knife to cut it, the 
fish sprang from his hand into the deep, telling him that it 
was Aino who had thus come to him, and whom he had 
now lost forever by his stupidity. Then indeed the song of 
the golden bird seemed sad to Wainamoinen, and he was 
disconsolate until his mother spoke to him from her grave : 
" My son, go north and seek thy wife. Take not a silly 
Lapp, but choose one of the daughters of Suomi." 

Quickly Wainamoinen prepared for his journey, and 
mounted his magic steed, that galloped over the plains of 
Kalevala and crossed the waste of blue sea- water as though 
it were land. 

But the envious Youkahainen was informed of the jour- 
ney, and had prepared a cruel cross-bow and three poisoned 
arrows. In spite of the protests of his mother, he waited 
for the hero and shot at him three times. The third arrow 
struck Wainamoinen's horse, which sank to the bottom of 
the ocean, leaving the hapless rider struggling in the water. 
" Seven summers must he tread the waves," chuckled Youka- 
hainen ; " eight years ride the billows." 

For six days Wainamoinen floated on the waters ; then he 
was rescued by a huge eagle that carried him on its back to 
Pohyola, the dismal Sariola, and left him on a barren prom- 
ontory, where he bemoaned his unhappy fate. Here he 
was found by Louhi, the toothless dame of Pohyola, who 
took him home and fed him. Then she promised to provide 
him with a sledge that he might journey safely home if he 
would forge for her the Sampo, a magical jewel that gave 
success to its possessor. If he could make her this, she 
would also give him her daughter in marriage. " I cannot 
forge the Sampo, but if thou wilt help me to my distant 
country I will send thee my brother Ilmarinen, the bfack- 
smith, who can forge for thee the magic Sampo, and win 
thy beautiful daughter." 

Louhi provided a sledge and horse, and as Wainamoinen 
seated himself she warned him, as he journeyed, not to look 



THE STORY OF THE K A LEV ALA. 



105 



upward before nightfall, or some great misfortune would 
befall him. 

The maiden of the Rainbow, beautiful daughter of Pohy- 
ola, was sitting on the rainbow weaving, and Wainamoinen, 
hearing the whizzing of the loom, forgot the warning, and, 
looking up, was filled with love for the maiden. 

" Come to me," he cried. 

" The birds have told me," she replied, " that a maiden's 
hfe, as compared to a married woman's, is as summer to 
coldest winter. Wives are as dogs enchained in kennels." 

When Wainamoinen further besought her, she told him 
that she would consider him a hero when he had split a 
golden hair with edgeless knives and snared a bird's ^gg 
with an invisible snare. When he had done these things 
without difficulty, she demanded that he should peel the 
sandstone, and cut her a whipstick from the ice without 
making a splinter. This done, she commanded that he 
should build her a boat from the fragments of her distaff, 
and set it floating without the use of his knee, arm, hand, 
or foot to propel it. 

While Wainamoinen was engaged in this task Hisi, the god 
of evil, caused him to cut his knee with the axe. None of his 
charms availed to stanch the blood, so he dragged himself to 
his sledge and sought the nearest village. In the third cot- 
tage he found a graybeard, who caused two maids to dip up 
some of the flowing blood, and then commanded Waina- 
moinen to sing the origin of iron. The daughters of Ukko 
the Creator had sprinkled the mountains with black, white, 
and red milk, — from this was formed iron. Fire caught the 
iron and carried it to its furnace, and later Ilmarinen worked 
the unwilling metal into various articles. As he sought 
something to harden it, Hisi's bird, the hornet, dropped 
poison into the water ; and the iron dipped into it, formed 
the hard steel, which, angry because it could not be broken, 
cut its brother, and vowed that it would ever cause man's 
blood to flow in torrents. 

The old man then addressed the crimson stream flowing 
from the wound, and prayed to mighty Ukko to stop it. 



I06 NATIONAL EPICS. 

When it ceased to flow at his prayer, he sent forth his son 
to gather various charmed plants, steep them, and make a 
magic balsam. After many attempts the son was successful ; 
and the balsam, applied to Wainamoinen's wound, healed it 
immediately. 

Wainamoinen returned home and sought Ilmarinen, who 
refused to go north to forge the Sampo. Inducing his brother 
to climb a lofty fir-tree to bring down the Moon and the 
Bear he had conjured there, the wizard caused a great storm- 
wind to arise and blow Ilmarinen to the woodlands of Pohyola. 

There the blacksmith at once set up a forge, and after four 
days' work saw the Sampo rising from the furnace, its many 
colored lid rocking and grinding, every day, many measures 
of meal. 

Joyfully Louhi received the magic Sampo and locked it in 
a secret chamber under the copper-bearing mountains. But 
when Ilmarinen asked for the hand of the Rainbow Maid, he 
was refused. " Never shall I, in my lifetime, say farewell 
to maiden freedom." So the blacksmith was compelled to 
return alone to Wainola. 

While Ilmarinen was forging the Sampo and Wainamoinen 
was building the magic boat, Lemminkainen, or Ahti, the 
reckless wizard, king of the islands, was longing for a bride 
from Ehstland. In spite of his mother's entreaties, Lemmin- 
kainen went to Ehstland, and when he found it was impos= 
sible to gain the favor of Kylliki, the Sahri maid of beauty, 
he carried her off by force in his sledge. She became recon- 
ciled to him when he promised that he would never go to 
battle, and she in turn vowed that she would not visit the 
village dances. They Hved happily together until Lemmin- 
kainen tarried late at the fishing one evening, and Kylliki 
went to the village dance. When Lemminkainen returned, 
his sister told him of Kylliki's broken vow ; and in spite of 
the prayers of his mother and wife, the hero declared that 
he would break his promise and go to war. To the North- 
land he would go, and win another wife. " When my brush 
bleeds, then you may know that misfortune has overtaken 
me," he said angrily, flinging his hairbrush at the wall. 



THE STORY OF THE KALEVALA. 



107 



Through many dangers he passed unscathed by the aid of 
his magic, until he stood in the halls of Louhi and asked for 
her daughter, the Rainbow Maiden. 

" First bring me the wild moose from the Hisi-fields and 
forests," said Louhi. 

From Kauppi, able smith, Lemminkainen procured the 
wondrous snow-shoes ; but Hisi, who heard the boasts of the 
hero, fashioned a wild moose that ran so rapidly that Lem- 
minkainen could not overtake it, but broke his snow-shoes 
in the race. He besought Ukko and the mistress of the 
forest and her king, and at last, with their aid, the moose 
was captured and led home to Louhi. 

" Now bridle the flaming horse of Hisi," said she. 

The mighty stallion stood on the Hisi mountain, breathing 
fire and smoke. When the hero saw him he prayed to 
Ukko, " Let the hail and icy rain fall upon him." His 
prayer was granted; and, going forward, Lemminkainen 
prayed the steed to put its head into the golden head-stall, 
promising to treat it with all gentleness. Then he led it to 
the courts of Sariola. 

" Now kill for me the swan that swims in Tuoni, the black 
death-river. One shot only canst thou have. If thou suc- 
ceed, then mayst thou claim thy bride." 

When Lemminkainen entered Pohyola he had slain all his 
opponents but one blind shepherd, whom he spared because 
he despised his helplessness. This object of his scorn was 
waiting for him, and when Lemminkainen approached the 
river he fell by a shot from the enemy, regretting, as he died, 
that he had not asked his mother's advice before attempting 
to reach Tuoni. 

Nasshut, the shepherd, threw the hero's body into the 
river, where it was seized and cut in pieces by the son of 
Tuoni. 

At home the mother and wife awaited anxiously tidings of 
their hero. When they saw blood trickling from the brush, 
the mother could wait no longer, but at once set out for the 
dreary Northland. After repeated threats, she wrested from 
Louhi the fact that her son had gone to Tuoni ; from the Sun 
she learned his fate. 



io8 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Quickly seeking Ilmarinen, the mother bade him forge for 
her a mighty rake. With this she raked the deep death-river, 
collected the pieces of the hero, bound them together with 
the aid of the goddess Suonetar, and making a balsam, the 
materials for which were brought her by the bee, she healed 
her hero son, comforted him, and led him back to Kalevala. 

In the mean time, Wainamoinen, who was building his 
boat for the Rainbow Maid, found that he had forgotten 
three magic words with which to fasten in the ledges and 
complete the boat's forecastle. 

After examining in vain the mouths of the wild animals, 
he sought the dead hero Wipunen, forced open his jaws, and 
accidentally fell into his mouth. Wipunen quickly swallowed 
him ; but Wainamoinen, setting up a forge in his body, caused 
him such discomfort that the giant was glad to give his in- 
formation, and get rid of his unwelcome visitor. Having 
thus learned the secrets of the ages, and among them the 
three magic words, Wainamoinen hastened home and finished 
his boat. 

The boat builded, he at once set out for the Northland to 
woo the Rainbow Maid. The boat was bedecked with silver 
and gold, and the linen sails were blue, white, and scarlet. The 
sails were merely for ornament, however, for the boat moved 
over the ocean without the aid of oars or sails. Wainamoi- 
nen's departure from Kalevala was observed by Anniki, the 
sister of Ilmarinen, who at once told her brother. With her 
assistance, Ilmarinen cleansed the black from his ruddy 
countenance, and jumping into his sledge, was soon on the 
way to Sariola. The approach of the heroes was perceived 
by Louhi. " Daughter," said she, " the old man brings thee 
a boat full of treasures ; take him. Do not wed the empty- 
handed youth." 

" Thy advice is good, but I will not take it. The young 
man shall be my husband." 

When Wainamoinen was refused in spite of his gifts, Louhi 
addressed herself to Ilmarinen, and set him, in turn, three 
tasks : to plough the serpent field of Hisi, to muzzle Tuoni's 
bear, and to catch the pike of Mana, in the river of Tuoni. 



THE STORY OF THE KALEVALA. 109 

With the help of his sweetheart, Ilmarinen accompHshed 
these tasks, and the wedding day was set. Old Wainamoinen, 
heavy hearted, journeyed homeward, and sent the edict to 
his people that in the future old men should not go wooing, 
or strive with younger men. 

Great preparations were made for the wedding feast ; the 
mighty ox of Karjala was slain, and for the first time, beer 
was brewed in Pohyola. Invitations were sent to all the 
people of Pohyola and the tribes of Kalevala, to all save 
Lemminkainen. 

When Ilmarinen returned for his bride, he was received 
with honor, and the wedding feast was merry. But when the 
time came to take the bride away, "the Rainbow Maid was 
unwilling, She who before had been so ready to go with him. 
Many times had she been told of the miseries of the wife : 
her husband's slave, her whole hfe one of service, one long en- 
deavor to please her husband's mother and father. After her 
lament, Osmatar, the Bride-adviser, instructed her how to 
please her husband's family, and admonished Ilmarinen to 
guard well his Bride of Beauty. Then the two set forth 
together, the Rainbow Maid shedding many tears at parting 
with her loved ones. 

The bride and groom were received with joy by Ilma- 
rinen's family, and old Wainamoinen himself sang at the 
wedding feast. 

But Lemminkainen was angry because he had received no 
invitation to the wedding, and in spite of his mother's advice, 
set out to make war against the Lapps. He successfully 
overcame all the terrors that beset him, and reached Sariola, 
but was so coldly received there that, enraged at such treat- 
ment, he slew his host, the landlord of Pohyola, and fled 
homeward to escape the hosts whom Louhi called to defend 
her. 

His mother sent him to the isle of refuge to escape the 
northern hosts. In the centre of the tenth ocean it rose, the 
refuge of his father; there he must abide three years, and 
must take a vow not to fight again for sixty summers. 

The three years passed speedily on the happy isle, where 



no NATIONAL EPICS. 

dwelt many maidens who admired the reckless hero, and he 
departed just in time to escape the swords of the jealous 
heroes of the isle. His ancient home was in ashes when he 
returned, his mother missing; but while he mourned for 
her, he chanced upon her, hiding from the Lapps in the 
forest. Again he determined to seek out his enemies and 
be revenged on them. Taking with him his friend Tiera he 
sought the north, but was met by the Frost- Fiend and com- 
pelled to return. 

To the house of Ilmarinen the blacksmith, was sold by 
Untamoinen a slave, Kullervo. He was a giant who had 
done naught but evil, until in despair his master sold him 
to the blacksmith. Kullervo, or Kullerwoinen, was made a 
shepherd and sent forth with the flocks. But rage at the 
blacksmith's wife, who baked a stone in his bread on which 
he broke the magic knife of his people, caused him to trans- 
form the flocks into wolves, who tore the Rainbow Wife to 
pieces when she went to milk them. 

Then Kullerwoinen fled from the blacksmith, and set out 
to find his tribe-people, but on the way unknowingly cor- 
rupted his sister, and in despair at his evil deeds, destroyed 
himself. 

Ilmarinen was full of grief at the loss of his wife. Un- 
happy and restless, he forged for himself a bride of gold ; but 
the image failed to satisfy him, and Wainamoinen, reproving 
him, forbade his people in the future to worship any graven 
image. Then the blacksmith again sought the north to win 
the sister of his former bride, but was met with bitter re- 
proaches for the sorrow he had brought upon the family. 
Nevertheless, he seized the maiden to carry her away, but she 
was so angry and so unhappy that he changed her to a sea- 
gull and came home wifeless and sad. 

Wainamoinen and Ilmarinen soon conceived the idea of 
going to the Northland to win back the Sampo. On the 
way they allied to themselves the wizard Lemminkainen. 
As they approached the whirlpool near Pohyola, their vessel 
stuck on the shoulders of a great pike. When neither Lem- 
minkainen nor Ilmarinen could slay it, Wainamoinen impaled 



THE STORY OF THE KALE V ALA. m 

it on his fire-sword, and the three banqueted on the great fish. 
From its bones, Wainamoinen fi-amed the first harp. No one 
could win music firom it but its creator ; but when he touched 
its strings and sang, the very trees danced about him, wild 
animals lay in peace at his feet, and the hearts of men were 
ravished. As his listeners wept at the strains, Wainamoinen's 
tears rolled down into the ocean. Thence the duck brought 
them, changed to pearls, receiving for a reward its beauti- 
ful coat. Such was the origin of sea-pearls. 

When Wainamoinen had put the inhabitants of Pohyola 
to sleep with his magic music, the heroes found the Sampo 
with little difficulty, and bore it away from the copper moun- 
tain. But as they hastened home, the discordant voice of 
Lemminkainen, who sang for joy of their capture, caused the 
crane to screech, and the bird's cry roused the people of 
Pohyola. Louhi speedily discovered her loss, and started in 
pursuit of the heroes. In various ways she attacked them, — 
with war ships that were stopped by a reef conjured up by 
Wainamoinen, by a terrible storm, and by a giant eagle that 
perched on their boat. In their struggle with her the Sampo 
was broken and its fragments scattered on the ocean. Louhi 
left them, uttering dire threats ; and Wainamoinen, gathering 
up what fragments of the Sampo he could find, buried them 
where they would bring prosperity to his people. 

Now Wainamoinen longed to sing to his harp to rejoice 
the hearts of his people, but the magic instrument had been 
lost in the storm conjured by Louhi. After raking the sea 
for it in vain, he constructed a new harp from the birch-tree, 
and delighted the people with his songs. 

In revenge for the theft of the Sampo, Louhi sent nine 
diseases upon Wainamoinen's people, — colic, pleurisy, fever, 
ulcer, plague, consumption, gout, sterility, and cancer, the 
offspring of the fell Lowyatar ; but by the use of vapor baths 
and balsams Wainamoinen healed his people. Then Louhi 
sent Otso the Bear, the honey-eater, but he was slain by the 
hero, who made a banquet of his flesh for the people. En- 
raged at her failures, she stole the sun, moon, and fire, and 
left Kalevala in darkness. Ukko, taking pity on his people, 



112 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Struck lightning from his fire-sword and gave the fire-child to 
a virgin to be cared for. In an unguarded moment it sprang 
earthward, fell into the sea, and was swallowed by a fish, that, 
in the agonies of torment, was swallowed by another. Waina- 
moinen went fishing with Ilmarinen, and at last caught the 
gray pike, — found in it the trout, found in the trout the 
whiting, and in the whiting the fireball. When he attempted 
to seize the fireball he burned his fingers, and dropped it. 
Ilmarinen did Hkewise. Then the ball rolled rapidly away 
until Wainamoinen caught it in an elm-tree, and took it 
home to gladden his people. Still they were cheerless with- 
out the sun and moon, and Wainamoinen was obliged to 
go to Louhi and compel her to give up the sun and moon. 
When he returned there was joy in Kalevala. 

In the Northland dwelt a happy maiden, Mariatta, who, 
eating of the magic berry, as she wandered one day in the 
fields, bore by it a child which she called Flower. Her 
parents cast her off, and as no one would take her in, she 
was compelled to go to the flaming steed of Hisi, in whose 
manger the child was born. Once when she slumbered the 
child vanished, and she sought for it in vain, until told by 
the sun that it was in Wainola, sleeping among the reeds 
and rushes. 

The child grew in grace and beauty, but no priest would 
baptize him, all saying that he was a wizard. Wainamoinen, 
too, counselled that he be destroyed ; but when the two 
weeks old babe lifted its head and reproached him, saying 
that he had committed many follies but had been spared by 
his people, Wainamoinen baptized him, and gave him the 
right to grow a hero and become a mighty ruler over Karyala. 

As Wainamoinen grew feeble with the passing years, he 
built himself a boat of copper, and singing a plaintive song 
in which he said the people of Suomi would look forward to 
his return as a time of peace and plenty, he set forth, sailing 
through the dusk of evening to the fiery sunset, and anchored 
in the purple horizon, leaving behind him for an heritage his 
harp, his wondrous songs, and his wisdom sayings. 



THE STORY OF THE KALEVALA. u^ 



SELECTIONS FROM THE KALEVALA. 

Ilmarinen's Wedding Feast. 

Ilmarinen, the blacksmith, visited the Northland, won the 
Rainbow Maid, and successfully performed the tasks set by her 
mother Louhi. Great preparations were made in Pohyola for 
the wedding, and the coming of the bridegroom was anxiously 
expected. 

Louhi, hostess of the Northland, 

Ancient dame of Sariola, 

While at work within her dwelling. 

Heard the whips crack on the fenlands, 

Heard the rattle of the sledges ; 

To the northward turned her glances, 

Turned her vision to the sunlight, 

And her thoughts ran on as follow : 

" Who are these in bright apparel. 

On tlie banks of Pohya-waters, 

Are they friends or hostile armies ? " 
Then the hostess of the Northland 

Looked again and well considered. 

Drew much nearer to examine, 

Found they were not hostile armies, 
Found that they were friends and suitors ; 

In the midst was Ilmarinen, 
Son in-law to ancient Louhi. 

When the hostess of Pohyola 
Saw the son-in-law approaching, 
She addressed the words that follow : 

" I had thought the winds were raging, 
That the piles of wood were falling, 
Thought the pebbles in commotion. 
Or perchance the ocean roaring ; 
Then I hastened nearer, nearer. 
Drew still nearer and examined, 
Found the winds were not in battle, 
Found the piles of wood unshaken, 
Found the ocean was not roaring, 
Nor the pebbles in commotion ; 
Found my son-in-law was coming 
With his heroes and attendants, 
Heroes counted by the hundreds. 

" Should you ask of me the question, 
How I recognized the bridegroom 
Mid the host of men and heroes, 

8 



114 NATIONAL EPICS. 

I should answer, I should tell you : 
' As the hazel-bush in copses, 
As the oak-tree in the forest, 
As the moon among the planets ; 
Drives the groom a coal-black courser, 
Running like a famished black-dog, 
Flying like the hungry raven, 
Graceful as the lark at morning, 
Golden cuckoos, six in number, 
Twitter on the birchen cross-bow ; 
There are seven blue-birds singing 
On the racer's hame and collar.'" 

Noises hear they in the court-yard, 
On the highway hear the sledges. 
To the court comes llmarinen, 
With his body-guard of heroes ; 
In the midst the chosen suitor, 
Not too far in front of others, 
Not too far behind his fellows. 
Spake the hostess of Pohyola : 

" Hie ye hither, men and heroes, 
Haste, ye watchers, to the stables, 
There unhitch the suitor's stallion, 
Lower well the racer's breast-plate. 
There undo the straps and buckles, 
Loosen well the shatts and traces. 
And conduct the suitor hither. 
Give my son-in-law good welcome ! " 

llmarinen turned his racer 
Into Louhi's yard and stables. 
And descended from his snow-sledge 
Spake the hostess of Pohyola : 

" Come, thou servant of my bidding, 
Best of all my trusted servants, 
Take at once the bridegroom's courser 
From the shafts adorned with silver, 
From the curving arch of willow, 
Lift the harness trimmed in copper. 
Tie the white-face to the manger, 
Treat the suitor's steed with kindness, 
Lead him carefully to shelter 
By his soft and shining bridle, 
By his halter tipped with silver ; 
Let him roll among the sand-hills, 
On the bottoms soft and even. 
On the borders of the snow-banks, 
In the fields of milky color. 
Lead the hero's steed to water, 
Lead him to the Pohya-fountains, 
Where the living streams are flowing. 



THE STORY OF THE KALE V ALA. 

Sweet as milk of human kindness, 
From the roots of silvery birches, 
Underneath the shade of aspens. 

" Feed the courser of the suitor, 
With the sweetest corn and barley, 
With the summer-wheat and clover. 
In the caldron steeped in sweetness; 
Feed him at the golden manger, 
In the boxes lined with copper. 
At my manger richly furnished, 
In the warmest of the hurdles ; 
Tie him with a silk-like halter, 
To the golden rings and staples, 
To the hooks of purest silver, 
Set in beams of birch and oak-wood ; 
Feed him on the hay the sweetest, 
Feed him on the grains nutritious, 
Give the best my barns can furnish. 

"Curry well the suitor's courser 
With the curry-comb of fish-bone. 
Brush his hair with silken brushes. 
Put his mane and tail in order, 
Cover well with silken blankets, 
Blankets wrought in gold and silver. 
Buckles forged from shining copper. 

" Come, ye small lads of the village, 
Lead the suitor to my chambers, 
With your auburn locks uncovered, 
From your hands remove your mittens, 
See if ye can lead the hero 
Through the door without his stooping, 
Lifting not the upper cross-bar, 
Sinking not the oaken threshold. 
Moving not the oaken casings, 
Great the hero who must enter. 

" Ilmarinen is too stately. 
Cannot enter through the portals, 
Not the son-in-law and bridegroom, . 
Till the portals have been lengthened ; 
Taller by a head the suitor 
Than the doorways of the mansion." 
Quick the servants of Pohyola 
Tore away the upper cross-bar, 
That his cap might not be lifted ; 
Made the oaken threshold lower 
That the hero might not stumble ; 
Made the birch-wood portals wider, 
Opened full the door of welcome, 
Easy entrance for the suitor. 

Speaks the hostess of the Northland 



115 



Il6 NATIONAL EPICS. 

As the bridegroom freely passes 
Through the doorway of her dwelling : 

" Thanks are due to thee, O Ukko, 
That my son-in-law has entered ! 
Let me now my halls examine; 
Make the bridal chambers ready, 
Finest linen on my tables, 
Softest furs upon my benches, 
Birchen flooring scrubbed to whiteness, 
All my rooms in perfect order." 

Then the hostess of Pohyola 
Visited her spacious dwelling, 
Did not recognize her chambers ; 
Every room had been remodelled, 
Changed by force of mighty magic ; 
All the halls were newly burnished, 
Hedgehog bones were used for ceilings, 
Bones of reindeer for foundations, 
Bones of wolverine for door-sills, 
For the cross-bars bones of roebuck, 
Apple-wood were all the rafters. 
Alder-wood, the window casings, 
Scales of trout adorned the windows. 
And the fires were set in flowers. 
All the seats were made of silver, 
All the floors of copper- tiling, 
Gold-adorned were all the tables. 
On the floor were silken mattings, 
Every fire-place set in copper, 
Every hearth-stone cut from marble, 
On each shelf were colored sea-shells, 
Kalew's tree was their protection. 

To the court-room came the hero, 
Chosen suitor from Wainola, 
These the words of Ilmarinen : 

" Send, O Ukko, health and pleasure 
To this ancient home and dwelling. 
To this mansion richly fashioned ! " 
Spake the hostess of Pohyola : 

" Let thy coming be auspicious 
To these halls of thee unworthy, 
To the home of thy affianced, 
To this dwelling lowly fashioned, 
Mid the lindens and the aspens. 

" Come, ye maidens that should serve me, 
Come, ye fellows from the village, 
Bring me fire upon the birch-bark. 
Light the fagots of the fir-tree, 
That I may behold the bridegroom, 
Chosen suitor of my daughter, 



THE STORY OF THE KA LEV ALA. 

Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow, 
See the color of his eyeballs, 
Whether they are blue or sable, 
See if they are warm and faithful." 

Quick the young lads from the village 
Brought the fire upon the birch-bark, 
Brought it on the tips of pine-wood ; 
And the fire and smoke commingled 
Roll and roar about the hero, 
Blackening the suitor's visage, 
And the hostess speaks as follows : 

" Bring the fire upon a taper, 
On the waxen tapers bring it ! " 

Then the maidens did as bidden. 
Quickly brought the lighted tapers, 
Made the suitor's eyeballs glisten, 
Made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy; 
Eyes were neither blue nor sable, 
Sparkled like the foam of waters, 
Like the reed-grass on the margin. 
Colored as the ocean-jewels, 
Iridescent as the rainbow. 

" Come, ye fellows from the hamlets, 
Lead my son-in-law and hero 
To the highest seat at table, 
To the seat of greatest honor, 
With his back upon the blue-wall, 
Looking on my bounteous tables, 
Facing all the guests of Northland." 

Then the hostess of Pohyola 
Served her guests in great abundance, 
Richest drinks and rarest viands, 
First of all she served the bridegroom ; 
On his platters honeyed biscuit. 
And the sweetest river-salmon. 
Seasoned butter, roasted bacon, 
All the dainties of Pohyola. 
Then the servants served the others, 
Filled the plates of all invited 
With the varied food of Northland. 
Spake the hostess of Pohyola : 

" Come, ye maidens from the village, 
Hither bring the beer in pitchers, 
In the urns with double handles, 
To the many guests in-gathered. 
Ere all others, serve the bridegroom." 

Thereupon the merry maidens 
Brought the beer in silver pitchers 
From the copper-banded vessels, 
For the wedding guests assembled ; 



117 



tj8 national epics. 

And the beer, fermenting, sparkled 

On the beard of Ihnarinen, 

On the beards of many heroes. 
When the guests had all partaken 

Of the wondrous beer of barley, 
Spake the drink in merry accents 
Through the tongues of the magicians, 
Through the tongue of many a hero. 
Through the tongue of Wainamoinen, 
Famed to be the sweetest singer 
C)f the Northland bards and minstrels. 

" Grant, O Ukko, my Creator, 

God of love, and truth, and justice, 

Grant thy blessing on our feasting. 

Bless this company assembled, 

For the good of Sariola, 

For the happiness of Northland ! 

May this bread and beer bring joyance, 

May they come in rich abundance. 

May they carry full contentment 

To the people of Pohyola, 

To the cabin and the mansion ; 

May the hours we spend in singing. 

In the morning, in the evening, 

Fill our hearts with joy and gladness ! 

Hear us in our supplications, 
Grant to us thy needed blessings, 
Send enjoyment, health, and comfort, 
To the people here assembled. 
To the host and to the hostess. 
To the bride and to the bridegroom, 
To the sons upon the waters. 
To the daughters at their weavings, 
To the hunters on the mountains. 
To the shepherds in the fenlands. 
That our lives may end in honor. 
That we may recall with pleasure 
Ilmarinen's magic marriage 
To the Maiden of the Rainbow, 
Snow-white virgin of the Northland." 

Crawford's Translation. Rune XXI. 



The Birth of the Harp. 

Wainamoinen, Umarinen, and the wizard Lemminkainen 
started to the Northland to win back the Sampo forged for 
Louhi by Umarinen. On the way their boat stuck on the 



THE STORY OF THE K ALE V ALA. up 

shoulders of a great pike, which was killed by Wainamoinen. 
The three then landed, ordered the pike to be cooked by the 
maidens, and feasted until nothing remained of the fish but a 
heap of bones. 

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, 
Looked upon the pile of fragments, 
On the fish-bones looked and pondered, 
Spake these words in meditation : 

" Wondrous things might be constructed 
From the relics of this monster, 
Were they in the blacksmith's furnace, 
In the hands of the magician, 
In the hands of Ilmarinen." 

Spake the blacksmith of Wainola : 

" Nothing fine can be constructed 
From the bones and teeth of fishes 
By the skilful forger-artist, 
By the hands of the magician." 
These the words of Wainamoinen : 

" Something wondrous might be builded 
From these jaws, and teeth, and fish-bones ; 
Might a magic harp be fashioned, 
Could an artist be discovered 
That could shape them to my wishes." 

But he found no fish-bone artist 
That could shape the harp of joyance 
From the relics of their feasting, 
From the jaw-bones of the monster. 
To the will of the magician. 
Thereupon wise Wainamoinen 
Set himself at work designing ; 
Quick became a fish-bone artist, 
Made a harp of wondrous beauty, 
Lasting joy and pride of Suomi. 
Whence the harp's enchanting arches? 
From the jaw-bones of the monster. 
Whence the necessary harp-pins ? 
From the pike-teeth, firmly fastened. 
Whence the sweetly singing harp-strings.? 
From the tail of Lempo's stallion. 
Thus was born the harp of magic 
From the mighty pike of Northland, 
From the relics from the feasting 
Of the heroes of Wainola, 
All the young men came to view it, 
All the aged with their children, 
Mothers with their beauteous daughters, 
Maidens with their golden tresses ; 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

All the people on the islands 
Came to view the harp of joyance, 
Pride and beauty of the Northland. 

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, 
Let the aged try the harp-strings, 
Gave it to the young magicians, 
To the dames and to their daughters. 
To the maidens, silver-tinselled, 
To the singers of Wainola. 
When the young men touched the harp-strings, 
Then arose the notes of discord ; 
When the aged played upon it. 
Dissonance their only music. 
Spake the wizard, Lemminkainen : 

" O ye witless, worthless children, 
O ye senseless, useless maidens, 
O ye wisdom-lacking heroes. 
Cannot play this harp of magic. 
Cannot touch the notes of concord ! 
Give to me this thing of beauty, 
Hither bring the harp of fish-bones. 
Let me try my skillful fingers." 
Lemminkainen touched the harp-strings, 
Carefully the strings adjusted, 
Turned the harp in all directions, 
Fingered all the strings in sequence, 
Played the instrument of wonder, 
But it did not speak in concord. 
Did not sing the notes of joyance. 
Spake the ancient Wainamoinen : 

" There is none among these maidens, 
None among these youthful heroes. 
None among the old magicians, 
That can play the harp of magic, 
Touch the notes of joy and pleasure. 
Let us take the harp to Fohya, 
There to find a skillful player 
That can touch the strings in concord." 

Then they sailed to Sariola, 
To Pohyola took the wonder, 
There to find the harp a master. 
All the heroes of Pohyola, 
All the boys and all the maidens, 
Ancient dames and bearded minstrels, 
Vainly touched the harp of beauty. 

Louhi, hostess of the Northland, 
Took the harp-strings in her fingers ; 
All the youth of Sariola, 
Youth of every tribe and station. 
Vainly touched the harp of fish-bone j 



THE STORY OF THE K ALE V ALA 121 

Could not find the notes of joyance, 
Dissonance their only pleasure ; 
Shrieked the harp-strings like the whirlwinds, 
All the tones were harsh and frightful. 

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, 
The eternal wisdom-singer, 
Laves his hands to snowy whiteness, 
Sits upon the rock of joyance, 
On the stone of song he settles, 
On the mount of song he settles. 
On the mount of silver clearness. 
On the summit, golden colored. 
Takes the harp by him created. 
In his hands the harp of fish-bone, 
With his knee the arch supporting, 
Takes the harp-strings in his fingers. 
Speaks these words to ^ose assembled : 

" Hither come, ye Northland people. 
Come and listen to my playing, 
To the harp's entrancing measures, 
To my songs of joy and gladness." 

Then the singer of Wainola 
Took the harp of his creation. 
Quick adjusting, sweetly tuning. 
Deftly plied his skillful fingers 
To the strings that he had fashioned. 
Now was gladness rolled on gladness, 
And the harmony of pleasure 
Echoed from the hills and mountains ; 
Added singing to his playing. 
Out of joy did joy come welling, 
Now resounded marvellous music. 
All of Northland stopped and listened. 
Every creature in the forest, 
All the beasts that haunt the woodlands 
On their nimble feet came bounding. 
Came to listen to his playing. 
Came to hear his songs of joyance. 
Leaped the squirrels from the branches, 
Merrily from birch to aspen ; 
Climbed the ermines on the fences. 
O'er the plains the elk deer bounded. 
And the lynxes purred with pleasure ; 
Wolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands, 
Bounded o'er the marsh and heather, 
And the bear his den deserted. 
Left his lair within the pine-wood. 
Settled by a fence to listen, 
Leaned against the listening gate-posts, 



122 NATIONAL EPICS. 

But the gate-posts yield beneath him ; 
Now he cUmbs the fir-tree branches 
That he may enjoy and wonder, 
Climbs and listens to the music 
Of the harp of Wainamoinen. 

Tapiola's wisest senior, 
Metsola's most noble landlord. 
And of Tapio, the people. 
Young and aged, men and maidens, 
Flew like red-deer up the mountains 
There to listen to the playing, 
To the harp of Wainamoinen. 
Tapiola's wisest mistress, 
Hostess of the glen and forest. 
Robed herself in blue and scarlet, 
Bound her limbs with silken ribbons, 
Sat upon the woodland summit, 
On the branches of a birch-tree, 
There to listen to the playing. 
To the high-born hero's harping. 
To the songs of Wainamoinen. 

All the birds that fly in mid-air 
Fell like snow-flakes from the heavens. 
Flew to hear the minstrel's playing, 
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen. 
Eagles in their lofty eyrie 
Heard the songs of the enchanter ; 
Swift they left their unfledged young ones, 
Flew and perched around the minstrel. 
From the heights the hawks descended, 
From the clouds down swooped the falcon. 
Ducks arose from inland waters, 
Swans came gliding from the marshes ; 
Tiny finches, green and golden, 
Flew in flocks that darkened sunlight. 
Came in myriads to listen, 
Perched upon the head and shoulders 
Of the charming Wainamoinen, 
Sweetly singing to the playing 
Of the ancient bard and minstrel. 
And the daughters of the welkin, 
Nature's well-beloved daughters, 
Listened all in rapt attention ; 
Some were seated on the rainbow, 
Some upon the crimson cloudlets, 
Some upon the dome of heaven. 

In their hands the Moon's fair daughters 
Held their weaving-combs of silver ; 
In their hands the Sun's sweet maidens 
Grasped the handles of their distaffs. 



THE STORY OF THE KALEVALA. 

Weaving with their golden shuttles, 
Spinning trom their silver spindles, 
On the red rims of the cloudlets, 
On the bow of many colors. 
As they hear the minstrel playing, 
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen, 
Quick they drop their combs of silver, 
Drop the spindles from their fingers, 
And the golden threads are broken. 
Broken are the threads of silver. 

All the fish in Suomi-waters 
Heard the songs of the magician, 
Came on flying fins to listen 
To the harp of Wainamoinen. 
Came the trout with graceful motions. 
Water-dogs with awkward movements, 
From the water-cliffs the salmon, 
From the sea-caves came the whiting, 
From the deeper caves the bill-fish; 
Came the pike from beds of sea-fern. 
Little fish with eyes of scarlet. 
Leaning on the reeds and rushes, 
With their heads above the surface ; 
Came to hear the harp of joyance, 
Hear the songs of the enchanter. 

Ahto, king of all the waters, 
Ancient king with beard of sea-grass, 
Raised his head above the billows. 
In a boat of water-lilies, 
Glided to the coast in silence, 
Listened to the wondrous singing, 
To the harp pf Wainamoinen. 
These the words the sea-king uttered : 

" Never have I heard such playing, 
Never heard such strains of music, 
Never since the sea was fashioned. 
As the songs of this enchanter, 
This sweet singer, Wainamoinen." 

Satko's daughters from the blue-deep, 
Sisters of the wave-washed ledges, 
On the colored strands were sitting, 
Smoothing out their sea-green tresses 
With the combs of molten silver. 
With their silver-handled brushes. 
Brushes forged with golden bristles. 
When they hear the magic playing, 
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen, 
Fall their brushes on the billows, 
Fall their combs with silver handles 
To the bottom of the waters, 



123 



124 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

Unadorned their heads remaining, 
And uncombed their sea-green tresses. 

Came the hostess of the waters, 
Ancient hostess robed in flowers, 
Rising from her deep sea-castle, 
Swimming to the shore in wonder, 
Listened to the minstrel's playing, 
To the harp of Wainamoinen. 
As the magic tones re-echoed, 
As the singer's song outcircled, 
Sank the hostess into slumber, 
On the rocks of many colors, 
On her watery couch of joyance, 
Deep the sleep that settled o'er her. 

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, 
Played one day and then a second, 
Played the third from morn to even. 
There was neither man nor hero, 
Neither ancient dame nor maiden. 
Not in Metsola a daughter, 
Whom he did not touch to weeping ; 
Wept the young and wept the aged, 
Wept the mothers, wept the daughters, 
At the music of his playing, 
At the songs of the magician. 

Crawford'' s Translation^ Runes XL.-XLI. 



THE ^NEID. 

THE ^neid was written by Publius Vergilius Maro, 
commonly known as Vergil, who was born at Andes, 
near Mantua, Oct. 15, 70 b. c, and died at Brundusium, 
Sept. 22, 19 B. c. 

He was educated at Cremona, Milan, Naples, and Rome. 
When the lands near Cremona and Mantua were assigned 
by Octavianus to his soldiers after the battle of Philippi, 
Vergil lost his estates ; but they were afterwards restored to 
him through Asinius Pollio. 

He became a favorite of Augustus, and spent part of his 
time in Rome, near his patron, Maecenas, the emperor's 
minister. 

Vergil's first work was the Bucolics, in imitation of Theoc- 
ritus. His second work, the Georgics, treats of husbandry. 
The ^neid relates the adventures of ^neas, the legendary 
ancestor of the Romans. 

The JEneid is in twelve books, of which the first six de- 
scribe the wanderings of ^neas, and the last six his wars 
in Italy. Its metre is the dactyllic hexameter. 

Vergil worked for eleven years on the poem, and con- 
sidered it incomplete at his death. 

The .^neid tells the story of the flight of ^Eneas from 
burning Troy to Italy, and makes him an ancestor of the 
Romans. With the story of his wanderings are interwoven 
praises of the Caesars and the glory of Rome. 

It is claimed that because Vergil was essentially a poet 
of rural Hfe, he was especially fitted to be the national poet, 
since the Roman life was founded on the agricultural country 
life. He also chose a theme which particularly appealed to 
the patriotism of the Romans. For this reason, the poem 



126 NATIONAL EPICS. 

was immediately received into popular favor, and was made 
a text-book of the Roman youths. 

It is often said of Vergil by way of reproach, that his 
work was an imitation of Homer, and the first six books of 
the ^neid are compared to the Odyssey, the last six to 
the Ihad. But while Vergil may be accused of imitation of 
subject matter, his style is his own, and is entirely different 
from that of Homer. There is a tender grace in the Ro- 
man writer which the Greek does not possess. Vergil also 
lacks that purely pagan enjoyment of life ; in its place there 
is a tender melancholy that suggests the passing of the 
golden age. This difference of treatment, this added grace 
and charm, which are always mentioned as peculiarly Ver- 
gil's own, united with his poetical feeling, and skill in versifi- 
cation, are sufficient to absolve him from the reproach of a 
mere imitator. 

The T^neid was greatly admired and imitated during the 
Middle Ages, and still retains its high place in literature. 

Bibliography and Criticism, The ^neid. R. W. 
Brown's History of Roman Classical Literature, n. d., pp. 
257-265 ; John Alfred Church's Story of the ^neid, 1886 ; 
Domenico Comparetti's Virgil in the Middle Ages, Tr. by 
Benecke, 1895 ; C. T. Cruttwell's Virgil (see his History 
of Roman Literature, n. d. pp. 252-375) ; John Davis's Ob- 
servations on the poems of Homer and Virgil, out of the 
French, 1672; James Henry's yEneidea : or Critical, Exe- 
getical, and ^sthetical Remarks on the ^Eneis, 1873 ; James 
Henry's Notes of Twelve Years' Voyage of Discovery in 
the first six Books of the ^neid, 1853; J. W. Mackail's 
Virgil (see his Latin Literature, 1895, pp. 91-106) ; H. 
Netdeship's The yEneid (see his Vergil, 1880, pp. 45-74) ; 
H. T. Peck and R. Arrowsmith's Roman Life in Latin Prose 
and Verse, 1894, pp. 68-70 ; Leonhard Schmitz's History of 
Latin Literature, 1877, pp. 106-108; VV. Y. Sellar's Ro- 
man Poets of the Augustan Age, Vergil, Ed. 2., 1883 ; W. S. 
Teuffel's ^Eneis (see his History of Roman Literature, 1891, 
pp. 434-439) ; J. S. Tunison's Master Virgil, the author of 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 127 

the ^neid; as he seemed in the Middle Ages, 1888 j Robert 
Y. Tyrrell's Virgil (see his Latin Poetry, 1895, PP- 126- 
161) ; A Forgotten Virtue, Macmillan, 1895, ^^i- S^~S^i ^^ 
article on the ^neid, " the epic of piety ; " Scene of the 
last six books of the ^neid, Blackwood, 1832, xxxii. 76- 
87; A. k. Knight's The Year in the ^Eneid, Education, 
1886, vi. 612-6 r6 ; William C. Cavvton's The Underworld 
in Homer, Virgil, and Dante, Atlantic, 1884, liv. 99-110. 

Standard English Translations, the ^neid. The 
^neid, Tr. by J. Conington, 1887 ; The ^neid, Tr. by C. 
P. Cranch, 1872 ; The yEneid, Tr. by John Dryden (1697), 
1884 ; The ^neid, Tr. by Wilham Morris, 1882 ; The 
yEneid, Tr. by W. S. Thornhill, 1886 ; The ^neid, Tr. by 
J. A. Wilstach, 18S4; The ^neid, Tr. by J. W. Mackail, 
1890. 



128 NATIONAL EPICS. 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 

For many years the heroic ^neas, who escaped from 
falling Troy to seek the shores of Italy, there to found the 
lofty walls of Rome, was tossed upon the sea by the wrath 
of cruel Juno. 

The fates foretold that these future Romans would over- 
throw a city dearer to her than Samos, — Carthage, founded 
by the Tyrians, opposite Italy, and far from the Tiberine 
mouths. For this rich city Juno desired boundless rule, — 
hence her hatred of the Trojans. Moreover, she had not 
forgotten the judgment of Paris, her slighted charms, and 
the supplanting of Hebe by Ganymede. 

After having tossed the unhappy hero and his men over 
many seas, Juno, observing their approach to Italy, hastened 
to .'Eolia, where King ^olus ruled over the struggling winds 
and tempests, chained in vast caves. 

Bribed by Juno, ^olus sent forth a tempest that scattered 
the ships of ^neas, and would have destroyed them had it 
not been for the interposition of Neptune. 

Suspecting his sister's treachery, Neptune angrily dis- 
missed the winds, and hastened to the relief of the Trojans. 
Cymothoe and Triton pushed the ships from the rocks, he 
himself assisting with his trident. Then, driving over the 
rough waves in his chariot, he soothed the frenzy of the sea. 

The wearied ^Eneans speedily sought a harbor on the 
Libyan shore, a long and deep recess bordered by a dense 
grove. In the cliffs was a cave, with sweet waters and seats 
carved from the living rock, — the abode of the nymphs. 
Gathering here the seven ships that survived the fury of the 
storm, yEneas landed, and feasted with his comrades. 

The next morning ^neas, accompanied by his friend 
Achates, sallied forth from the camp at dawn, to learn, if 
possible, something of the land on which they had been 
thrown. They had gone but a little way in the depths of 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 129 

the forest when they met ^neas's mothsr, Venus, in the 
guise of a Spartan maid, her bow hung from her shoulders, 
her hair flowing to the wind. 

"Hast thou seen my sister?" she inquired, "hunting 
the boar, wrapped in a spotted lynx hide, her quiver at her 
back?" 

" Nay, we have seen no one," rephed ^neas. " But 
what shall I call thee, maiden? A goddess, a nymph? Be 
kind, I pray thee, and tell us among what people we have 
fallen, that before thy altars we may sacrifice many a 
victim." 

" I am unwordiy of such honors," Venus answered. 
" This land is Libya, but the town is Tyrian, founded by 
Dido, who fled hither from her brother Pygmalion, who had 
secretly murdered her husband, Sichseus, for his gold. To 
Dido, sleeping, appeared the wraith of Sichseus, palhd, his 
breast pierced with the impious wound, and revealed to her 
her brother's crime, showed where a hoard of gold was con- 
cealed, and advised her to leave the country. 

" Gathering together a company of those who wished to 
flee from the tyrant, Dido seized the ships, loaded them with 
the gold, and fled to Libya, where she is now erecting the 
walls and towers of New Carthage. I would advise thee to 
hasten forward and seek our queen. If augury fail me not, 
I read from yonder flight of swans the return of thy missing 
ships and comrades." 

As she turned to go, her neck shone with a rosy reful- 
gence, ambrosial fragrance breathed from her, her robe 
flowed down about her feet and revealed the goddess. As 
she vanished, her son stretched longing hands after her. 
" Ah, mother, why dost thou thus trifle with me ? Why may 
not I clasp thy loved hands and exchange true words with 
thee?" 

Wrapped in a cloud by Venus, ^neas and Achates 
mounted a hill that overlooked the city, and looked down 
wondering on the broad roofs and the paved streets of 
Carthage, The busy Tyrians worked like the bees in early 
summer : some moving the immense masses of stone, some 

9 



30 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



founding the citadel, others laying off the sites for the law 
courts and sacred Senate House. " O happy ye whose walls 
now rise ! " exclaimed ^neas, as he and Achates mingled 
with the crowd, still cloud-wrapped, and entered the vast 
temple built to Juno. Here ^neas's fear fell from him ; for 
as he waited for the queen's coming, he saw pictured on the 
walls the fall of his own dear city, and! wept as he gazed 
upon the white tents of Rhesus, and Hector's disfigured 
body. 

As he wept, the beautiful Dido entered, joyously intent on 
her great work, and, seating herself on her throne, proceeded 
to give laws to the Tyrians, and assign their work to them. 

Suddenly, to the amazement of yEneas and Achates, in 
burst their lost comrades,- Antheus, Sergestus, Gyas, Cloan- 
thus, and other Trojans, demanding of Dido a reason for 
their rough reception. To whom the queen replied : — 

" Let fear desert your hearts ; I, too, have suffered, and 
know how to aid the unfortunate. And whither hath not 
the fame of Troy penetrated? I will aid you in leaving this 
coast, or give you a home with me, treating you as I treat my 
Tyrians. Would only that ^neas's self stood with you ! " 

Then burst yEneas forth from his cloud-wrapping, made 
more beautiful by Venus, the purple bloom of youth on his 
face, joy in his eyes. " Here am I, Trojan ^neas, to render 
thanks to thee, divine Dido." 

Dido, charmed with the hero, prepared a banquet for him 
in her splendid hall, curtained with rich drapery, and adorned 
with costly plate, whereon were pictured the proud deeds of 
her ancestors. Hither came the Trojans with gifts for Dido, 
— a rich robe stiff with gold embroidery, a veil embroidered 
with the yellow acanthus, ornaments of Helen, the sceptre 
of Ilione, a pearl and gold necklace, and a double crown of 
gems and gold. 

Beside Achates tripped Cupid, for Venus, suspecting the 
craft of the Tyrians, had hidden Ascanius on Mount Ida, and 
sent her own son in his guise, to complete ^Eneas's conquest 
of Dido. 

After the feast was over, the great beakers were brought in 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 



131 



and crowned with garlands. Dido called for the beaker 
used by Belus and all his descendants, and pouring a liba- 
tion, drank to the happiness of the Trojan wanderers, and 
passed the cup around the board. lopas, the long-haired 
minstrel, sang, and the night passed by in various discourse. 
Dido, forgetting Sich^us, hung on the words of ^neas, 
questioning him of Priam and Hector, and at last demand- 
ing the story of his wanderings. 

"Thou orderest me, O queen, to renew my grief, the 
destruction of Troy by the Greeks, which deeds I have 
seen, and a part of which I have been. 

" Despairing of conquering Troy, the Greeks attempted 
to take it by stratagem. By the art of Pallas, they framed a 
heaven-high horse, within which were concealed picked men 
for our destruction. Leaving this behind them, they sailed, 
ostensibly for home, in reality for Tenedos. 

" When we supposed them gone we joyfully went forth to 
examine the deserted camp and the giant horse. As we 
wondered at it, and Laocoon, priest of Neptune, urged us 
to destroy it, a crowd of shepherds approached with a youth 
whom they had found hiding in the sedges. His name was 
Sinon. He was a Greek, but he was hated by Ulysses, and 
had fled to save his life. The Greeks had sailed home, he 
assured us, leaving the horse as a votive offering to Pallas. 
They had hoped that its great bulk would prevent the Tro- 
jans from taking it inside their walls, for once within the 
city, Troy could never be taken. 

" We Trojans were credulous, and Sinon's tale was plaus- 
ible. To increase our belief in it, while Laocoon was sacri- 
ficing a bull to Neptune, we saw coming over the sea from 
Tenedos two huge serpents, their crimson crests towering 
high, their breasts erect among the waves, their long folds 
sweeping over the foaming sea. As we fled affrighted, they 
seized the two sons of Laocoon, twining their coils around 
the wretched boys ; and when their father hastened to their 
aid, caught him in their huge coils, staining his fillets with 
black blood. ' Laocoon suffered for his crime.' we said, 
when, the priest slain, the serpents crept to Pallas's altar. 



132 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



and curled themselves around the feet of the goddess. Then 
joyfully we made a breach in the walls, put rollers under the 
horse, and, with music and dancing, dragged it within the 
walls. 

" That night as we lay sleeping after revelry and feasting, 
Sinon crept down, opened the horse, and freed the men, 
who were soon joined by the other Greeks, returned from 
Tenedos. 

" In a dream Hector's shade appeared to me, and, weep- 
ing, bade me fly. ' Troy falls. Do thou go forth and save 
her household deities T As I woke, sounds of battle pene- 
trated to my palace halls, removed somewhat from the city, 
and embowered in trees ; and I rushed forth, forgetful of 
Hector's warning. I saw the streets swimming in Trojan 
blood, Trojan women and children led captive, Cassandra 
dragged from her shrine. Enraged, I gathered a band and 
slew many Greeks. But when I saw the impious Pyrrhus 
enter the palace and slay Priam at the altar, I recognized 
the uselessness of my struggle, and turned to my home. 

" Taking my old father Anchises on my back, and leading 
lulus by the hand, I set forth, followed by my wife Creusa. 
But when I looked behind me at the city gates, my wife 
was gone. Mad with despair, I rushed back to the citadel, 
crying, 'Creusa! Creusa!' Our homestead was in flames, 
the streets filled with Greeks ; but as I roamed through the 
town, I met her pallid shape. ^ O husband, rage not against 
heaven's decrees ! Happy days will come for thee on the 
banks of the Tiber. Farewell, and love with me our boy ! ' 

" Without the gates I was joined by other fugitives ; and 
after the departure of the Greeks we built ships from the 
timbers of Mount Ida, and loading these with our household 
gods and a few spoils from the city, we departed to seek 
new homes. 

" In Thrace, our first stopping-place, I learned that Poly- 
dore, Priam's son, who had been entrusted to the care of 
the Thracian king, had been slain by him for his gold, when 
the fortunes of Troy fell. We hastened to leave this ac- 
cursed land, and sought Delos, only to be instructed by 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 133 

Apollo that we must seek the home from which our fore- 
fathers had come. Anchises, who remembered the legends 
of our race, thought this must be Crete ; so to Crete we 
sailed, and there laid the foundations of a city, only to be 
driven thence by a plague and a threatened famine. 

" In a dream my household gods instructed me that Dar- 
danus, the founder of our race, had come from Hesperia, 
and thither we must bend our course. Tempests drove us 
about the sea for three suns, until, on the fourth, we landed 
at the isle of the Harpies, — loathsome monsters, half 
woman, half bird, who foul everything they touch. When 
we had slain the cattle and prepared to banquet, they drove 
us from the tables ; and when attacked by us, uttered dire 
threats of future famine. 

" At Epirus we heard that Andromache had wed Prince 
Helenus, who had succeeded to the rule of Pyrrhus, two 
Trojans thus being united. As I landed here, anxious to 
prove the truth of the rumor, I met Andromache herself in 
a grove near the town, sacrificing at an empty tomb dedi- 
cated to Hector. Pyrrhus had made her his slave after the 
fall of Troy, but after he wedded Hermione, he had given 
her to Helenus, himself a slave. When Pyrrhus died, part 
of his realm fell to Helenus, and here the two had set up a 
little Troy. 

" Helenus received us kindly, instructed us as to our 
route, and gave us rich gifts ; and Andromache, remember- 
ing her dead Astyanax, wept over lulus as she parted with 
him. 

'' As we passed Sicily we took up a Greek, Achemenides, 
a companion of Ulysses, who had been left behind, and had 
since been hiding in deadly terror from the Cyclops. We 
ourselves caught sight of the monster Polyphemus, feeling 
his way to the shore to bathe his wounded eye. 

" Instructed by Helenus, we avoided Scylla and Charyb- 
dis, and reached Sicily, where my father died. We were 
just leaving the island when the storm arose that brought us 
hither. The rest thou knowest." 

The guests departed from the banquet hall ; but the un- 



134 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



happy Dido, consumed with love, imparted her secret to 
her sister Anna. 

"Why shouldst thou weep, sister dear? Why regret that 
thou hast at last forgotten Sich^us? Contend not against 
love, but strive to unite Trojan and Tyrian. Winter comes 
on, and thou canst detain him while the sea rages and the 
winds are fierce and the rains icy." 

Her ambitious plans for her city forgotten, Dido wandered 
through the streets, mad with love and unable to conceal her 
passion. She led yEneas among the walls and towers, made 
feasts for him, and begged again and again to hear the story 
of his wandering. At other times she fondled Ascanius, 
leaving her youths undrilled, and the city works abandoned. 

Perceiving that ^neas, well content, seemed to forget 
that his goal was Hesperia, Mercury was dispatched by Ju- 
piter to warn him to depart from Carthage. 

"Why stoppest thou here? " questioned the herald of the 
gods. '' If thou carest not for thyself, think of Ascanius, 
thine heir. His must be the Itahan realms, the Roman 
world." 

The horror-stricken ^neas stood senseless with fear. 
He longed to escape, but how leave the unhappy Dido? 
Quickly calling his comrades, he commanded them to fit 
out the fleet in silence, hoping to find a time when he could 
break the news to Dido gently. 

But who can deceive a lover? Rumor bore the report to 
Dido, who, mad with grief, reproached y^neas. "Perfidious 
one ! didst thou think to escape from me? Does not our 
love restrain thee, and the thought that I shall surely die 
when thou art gone ? I have sacrificed all to thee ; now 
leave me not lonely in my empty palace." 

^neas remained untouched. He would ever retain the 
kindest memories of his stay in Carthage. He had never 
held out the hope of wedlock to her. A higher power called 
him, and, bidden by Jove, he must depart, for Ascanius's 
sake, to Italy. 

The fainting Dido was carried to her palace, whence she 
could watch the hurried preparations for the departure. As 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 



35 



she watched, hfe became intolerable to her. Pretending to 
her sister that she was preparing to perform a magic spell to 
release her from the bonds of love, she reared a mighty pyre 
in her court, wreathed it with funereal garlands, and placed 
thereon ^neas's couch, garments, and sword. With her hair 
dishevelled, she then invoked Hecate, and sprinkHng Aver- 
nian water and poisons on it, and casting thereon various 
love-charms, she called the gods to witness that she was deter- 
mined to die. As the ships left the harbor, she tore her 
hair, one moment accusing herself because she had not torn 
^neas to pieces when in her power, at another vowing to 
follow him. Then, anxious to forget her grief, she mounted 
the pyre, and threw herself on the sword of her faithless 
lover. 

Far out at sea, the ^neans, looking back, dimly guessed 
the meaning of the flames that brightened the stormy skies. 

Contrary winds compelled ^neas to seek harbor in Sicily. 
Its king, Acestes, was his friend, and there he had buried 
his father Anchises. A year had elapsed since his death, 
and in honor of the anniversary, yEneas instituted funeral 
games, in which there were trials of skill in rowing, foot- 
racing, archery, and boxing. 

While the spectators were applauding the feats of skill, 
the Trojan women, at the instigation of Juno, set fire to the 
ships, that they might compel ^neas to remain in Sicily. 
By Jupiter's aid, some of the vessels were saved, and ^neas, 
acting on the advice of Nautes, allowed the women and 
those Trojans who so desired, to remain in Sicily, and him- 
self marked out for them the foundations of their city. 

While here yEneas was urged by Anchises in a dream to 
visit the Cumaean Sibyl, that, with her assistance, he might 
visit Elysium and talk with him. 

In the lofty temple, the Sibyl, inspired by the god, en- 
couraged the hero. "Success will at last be thine, and 
Juno will be won over to thee. But great labors must thou 
undergo." 

To visit the underworld was no easy task, she assured 
him. " The gates of Dis stand open night and day ; small 



136 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



trouble it is to descend thereto, but to retrace one's steps, 
and regain the upper air, there lies the toil." ^neas must 
first possess a golden branch to present to Proserpina, and 
celebrate the funeral rites of his friend, Misenus, who yet 
lay unburied. 

While yEneas worked in the forest, felling trees for Mi- 
senus's bier, the doves of Venus descended and aided him 
to find the tree, from which he plucked the gleaming 
branch. 

Across the Styx, past the dread Cerberus, y^neas and the 
Siby] went, through the abode of babes and those who died 
for deeds they did not do, and into the mourning fields, 
where the disappointed in love were hedged in with myrtle 
sprays. Here ^neas descried Dido dimly through the 
clouds, and wept to see her fresh wound. Many were his 
protestations of his faithfulness, and strong his declaration that 
he left her only at the command of the gods. But without 
raising her eyes, Dido turned coldly away to where her for- 
mer husband returned her love for love. Past the chamber 
of torture, beyond Phlegethon, guarded by Tisiphone and 
Tartarus, in whose depths the wicked were punished, they 
went, and entered the beautiful fields of Elysium, where 
^neas found his father. 

To his son, Anchises explained that the souls that visited 
the underworld were punished according to their deserts, 
and then sent into Elysium. Cleansed there of all im- 
purities, and with the memories of the past washed from them 
by Lethe, they again visited the world in another form. 
Pointing out a crowd that passed them, he indicated to 
^neas the illustrious men who would make his race famous 
in Italy. First his son Silvius, born of Lavinia, his Italian 
wife to be ; Numitor, Romulus, the founder of Rome, Caesar, 
and greatest of all, Augustus Caesar, who would usher in the 
golden age. 

Comforted by the prophecies of Anchises, ^Eneas sought 
the upper world, and collecting his companions, set sail for 
the mouth of the Tiber. 

Latinus the king welcomed -/Eneas, and received his pro- 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 



137 



posals for his daughter Lavinia's hand with favor, remember- 
ing an ancient prophecy that Lavinia was to wed a foreign 
prince. But queen Amata, aroused by Juno, insisted that 
Lavinia should be espoused to Turnus, chief of the Rutu- 
Hans. Stung by the fury Alecto, she stirred up the people 
until they demanded that Latinus declare war against ^neas ; 
and when he hesitated; Juno herself threw open the gates of 
the temple of Janus. 

Leaving part of his forces in Latium with Ascanius, 
^neas, instructed in a dream by father Tiber, sailed up the 
river to Pallanteum, the future site of Rome, to gain the 
alliance of Evander, an Arcadian king unfriendly to Turnus. 

Evander, who was celebrating a solemn feast to Hercules, 
together with his only son Pallas, and his senate, welcomed 
the warriors to his modest home, promised his alliance, 
and sent forth with ^neas his son Pallas and four hun- 
dred knights. He also advised him to go to Argylla, whose 
people were stirred up against Turnus because he protected 
their tyrant king Mezentius. 

While JEneas was thus seeking allies, his troops in Latium 
had been attacked and besieged by Turnus, and were greatly 
in need of the hero's aid. While the hosts of Turnus were 
sleeping after their drunken revelry, Nisus proposed to his 
beloved Euryalus that they steal through the Latin line with 
messages to ^neas. Their proposal was applauded by the 
elders, and lulus, weeping, promised to cherish them forever 
for their courage. 

As the youths passed among the sleeping Latins, the de- 
sire for slaughter overcame them, and they slew Rhamnes, 
as he lay upon his gorgeous rugs, Lamus, and many others, 
Euryalus taking Rhamnes's golden-studded belt and Messa- 
pus's helmet as booty. Unfortunately they had delayed too 
long in slaughter ; as they neared the camp of Turnus, Vol- 
scens, returning with reinforcements, caught sight of the 
shining helmet of Euryalus. The youth, flying, became 
separated from Nisus, and was captured by the enemy. 
Nisus, who returned to rescue his friend, sent weapon after 
weapon from his retreat, and when he saw Euryalus about to 



138 NATIONAL EPICS. 

suffer death from Volscens, rushed forth to save him, only 
to fall dead upon the body of his slaughtered friend. 

Angry at the slaughter committed by Nisus and Euryalus, 
Turnus, on his return, attempted to scale the intrenchments. 
The fight raged fiercely around the walls and towers ; but 
just as the victory seemed to be with Turnus, ^neas re- 
turned with his Tuscan alhes, effected a landing, and began 
to put the enemy to flight, slaying the tyrant Mezentius and 
his son. 

Turnus, hearing of the danger of his friend Lausus, at the 
hands of Pallas, who had already wrought great slaughter, 
sought him out, amazing the young warrior by his great size. 
Pallas faced him bravely ; but while his spear only grazed 
the shoulder of Turnus, the spear of the Rutulian crushed 
the folds of iron, bronze, and hides, the corselet's rings of 
steel, and buried itself in Pallas's breast. 

Turnus took the sword-belt from Pallas's body ; but be- 
cause of the merit of the young warrior, yielded his body 
to the Arcadians to be carried to King Evander. 

Enraged at the death of his friend, .-Eneas fought more 
fiercely. Especially anxious was he to meet Turnus ; but 
Juno, determined, if possible, to save her favorite, decoyed 
Turnus off the battle-field by assuming the guise of ^neas. 

After a truce, during which the armies buried their dead, 
and the body of Pallas was sent home to his father, the 
armies again came together, the Latins being reinforced by 
the Amazons, under the leadership of Camilla. Camilla 
had been reared by her father, the exile Metabus, and, early 
trained to warlike pursuits, had consecrated herself to Diana. 
Beautiful as a goddess was she, and so light of foot that she 
could fly over the tops of the tallest wheat without harming 
the ears. ' 

Within the walls of Latium there was quarrelling between 
the parties, Drances, leader of the peace party, accusing 
Turnus of bringing on and continuing the hostilities. The 
approach of ^neas brought these disputes to an abrupt 
conclusion, and Camilla, with Turnus, hastened to battle. 
Many victims fell by Camilla's hand that day, as she rode 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 139 

about the field, her breast bare, her hand clasping her double 
battle-axe, before Aruns struck her down and fled, fright- 
ened at his victory. 

In Latium the unhappiness increased, and Turnus, enraged 
at the reproaches heaped upon him, declared that he would 
decide the war by single combat with yEneas. Latinus 
made no secret of his regret at having been compelled to 
break his compact with ^neas ; but Amata, still furious, 
raged against ^.neas, and declared that she would die if he 
were made her son-in-law. 

The preparations were made for the single combat, the 
sacrifices at the altars, the crowds assembled to witness the 
combat ; but just as the kings were solemnizing the agree- 
ment, Turnus's sister, Juturna, a river goddess, beloved of 
Jupiter, renewed the hostilities that Turnus might be saved. 
A weapon hurled from the Latin ranks caused the indignant 
Trojans to rise in arms, forgetful of the treaty, and the fight 
raged more fiercely than before. 

Juturna, fearful from Juno's words of the fate of Turnus, 
assumed the guise of Metiscus, his charioteer, and drove 
her brother over the field far from the angry ^neas, who, 
weary of waiting for Turnus, turned towards Latium. The 
frightened people rushed hither and thither, and the queen, 
seeing the approaching foe, the roofs in flames, and no 
troops of Turnus in sight, supposed the Rutulian dead, and 
hanged herself. 

In the mean time, Turnus, remote from the fight, re- 
proached his sister. " Think'st thou not I recognized thee ? 
Thy deceit is in vain. Is to die so wretched a thing? Let 
us go to the battle. At least, I will die not unworthy of my 
ancestry." 

As he spoke, Saces, wounded and bleeding, rushed to 
him, imploring : " Turnus, have pity on us ; come to our res- 
cue ! The Latins call thee, the queen is dead, the phalanxes 
crowd thick around the gates, while thou drivest idly here." 

Turnus, amazed, confused, and shamed, saw flames con- 
suming the towers of Latium. 

" Now, sister, the fates control. Desist ! It is too late, 



I40 NATIONAL EPICS. 

I will be shamed no more ! " Leaping from his chariot, he 
rushed forward, demanding that war cease in order that he 
and yEneas might decide the batde in single combat. 

When Turnus's sword broke on the helmet of JEneas, — 
the sword of his charioteer, that he had seized by mistake 
instead of his own Styx-hardened blade, — he turned and 
fled, y^neas pursuing. 

Above, in Olympus, Jupiter and Juno quarrelled, as they 
watched the heroes circling over the yellow sand. 

" Give over thy enmity," said the omnipotent father. 
" Thou hast caused the treaty to be violated ; even now 
thou hast made Juturna return the lost sword to Turnus — 
in vain. Grieve no more, and goad no longer these suffer- 
ing men of Troy." 

Then Juno yielded, stipulating only that the Trojans lay 
aside their ancient name, that Latium remain Latium, and 
the future growth Roman. 

Juturna, warned by Jove's messenger, a bird of evil omen, 
tore her locks and beat her breast, regretting the gift of im- 
mortality conferred on her by Jove. Then wrapping her 
gray veil about her, she fled to her watery throne that she 
might not see the death of her brother. The frightened 
Turnus, still fleeing from .^neas, abandoned his sword and 
took up instead a mighty rock, a landmark such as scarce 
six men could uplift. 

Hurling this at yEneas, he stood, his blood running chill, 
his eyes cast towards the Rutuli, the town, and the spear 
of ^neas, that, shrieking through the air, doom laden, 
wrecked his heavy shield and pierced his thigh. 

'^ Mercy ! " he prayed. "Fate hath given thee the advan- 
tage. Think, thou duteous son, of my old father, Daunus." 

As ^neas stood, softened, and ready to grant the re- 
quest, the sword-belt of Pallas caught his eye. 

'' Shalt thou escape, decked out with Pallas's spoils ? No, 
not I slay thee, but Pallas! His hand immolates thee!" 
As he spoke he plunged his sword in Turnus's breast. 

Chilly death came, and the warrior's spirit fled, groaning 
to the shades. 



k 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 141 



SELECTION FROM THE ^NEID. 

NiSUS AND EURYALUS. 

While yEneas, finding the Latins hostile to him, sailed up 
the Tiber in search of allies, the troops he left behind under 
Ascanius were attacked by Turnus, and their slight fortifications 
besieged. They were sorely pressed, and longed to be able to 
inform ^neas of their need. 

Nisus was guardian of the gate, 
No bolder heart in war's debate, 
The son of Hyrtacus, whom Ide 
Sent, with his quiver at his side, 
From hunting beasts in mountain brake 
To follow in iEneas' wake : 
With him Euryalus, fair boy ; 
None fairer donned the arms of Troy ; 
His tender cheek as yet unshorn 
And blossoming with youth new-born. 
Love made them one in every thought : 
In battle side by side they fought ; 
And now in duty at the gate 
The twain in common station wait. 
" Can it be Heaven," said Nisus then, 
" That lends such warmth to hearts of men, 
Or passion surging past control 
That plays the god to each one's soul ? 
Long time, impatient of repose. 
My swelling heart within me glows, 
And yearns its energy to fling 
On war, or some yet grander thing. 
See there the foe, with vain hope flushed ! 
Their lights are scant, their stations hushed : 
Unnerved by slumber and by wine 
Their bravest chiefs are stretched supine. 
Now to my doubting thought give heed 
And listen where its motions lead. 
Our Trojan comrades, one and all. 
Cry loud, ^neas to recall, 
And where, they say, the men to go 
And let him of our peril know ? 
Now if the meed I ask they swear 
To give you — nay, I claim no share, 

Content with bare renown — 



142 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

Meseems, beside yon grassy heap 
The way I well might find and keep, 

To Pallanteum's town." 
The youth returns, while thirst of praise 
Infects him with a strange amaze : 
" Can Nisus aim at heights so great, 
Nor take his friend to share his fate? 
Shall I look on, and let you go 
Alone to venture 'mid the foe ? 
Not thus my sire Opheltes, versed 
In war's rude toil, my childhood nursed, 
When Argive terror filled the air 
And Troy was battling with despair : 
Nor such the lot my youth has tried, 
In hardship ever at your side, 
Since, great Eneas' liegeman sworn, 
I followed Fortune to her bourne : 
Here, here within this bosom burns 
A soul that mere existence spurns, 
And holds the fame you seek to reap. 
Though bought with life, were bought full cheap." 

" Not mine the thought," brave Nisus said, 

*' To wound you with so base a dread : 

So may great Jove, or whosoe'er 

Marks with just eyes how mortals fare. 

Protect me going, and restore 

In triumph to your arms once more. 

But if — for many a chance, you wis, 

Besets an enterprise like this — 

If accident or power divine 

The scheme to adverse end incline, 

Your life at least I would prolong : 

Death does your years a deeper wrong. 

Leave me a friend to tomb my clay, 

Rescued or ransomed, which you may ; 

Or, e'en that boon should chance refuse, 

To pay the absent funeral dues. 

Nor let me cause so dire a smart 

To that devoted mother's heart, 

Who, sole of all the matron train. 

Attends her darling o'er the main. 

Nor cares like others to sit down 

An inmate of Acestes' town." 

He answers brief : ' ' Your pleas are naught : 

Firm stands the purpose of my thought : 

Come, stir we : why so slow? " 
Then calls the guards to take their place, 
Moves on by Nisus, pace with pace, 

And to the prince they go. 



THE STORY OF THE MNEID. 143 

All other creatures wheresoe'er 
Were stretched in sleep, forgetting care : 
Troy's chosen chiefs in high debate 
Were pondering o'er the reeling state, 
What means to try, or whom to speed 
To show ^neas of their need. 
There stand they, midway in the field, 
Still hold the spear, still grasp the shield : 
When Nisus and his comrade brave 
With eager tones admittance crave ; 
The matter high ; though time be lost, 
The occasion well were worth the cost, 
lulus hails the impatient pair, 
Bids Nisus what they wish declare. 
Then spoke the youth : " Chiefs 1 lend your ears, 
Nor judge our proffer by our years. 
The Rutules, sunk in wine and sleep, 
Have ceased their former watch to keep : 
A stealthy passage have we spied 
Where on the sea the gate opes wide: 
The line of fires is scant and broke. 
And thick and murky rolls the smoke. 
Give leave to seek, in these dark hours, 
^neas at Evander's towers, 
Soon will you see us here again 
Decked with the spoils of slaughtered men. 
Nor strange the road : ourselves have seen 
The city, hid by valleys green, 
Just dimly dawning, and explored 
In hunting all the river-board." 
Out spoke Aletes, old and gray: 
" Ye gods, who still are Ilium's stay, 
No, no, ye mean not to destroy 
Down to the ground the race of Troy, 
When such the spirit of her youth, 
And such the might of patriot truth." 
Then, as the tears roll down his face, 
He clasps them both in strict embrace : 
" Brave warriors ! what rewards so great, 
For worth like yours to compensate ? 
From Heaven and from your own true heart 
Expect the largest, fairest part : 
The rest, and at no distant day, 
The good ^Eneas shall repay, 
Nor he, the royal youth, forget 
Through all his life the mighty debt." 
" Nay, hear me too," Ascanius cried, 
'' Whose life is with my father's tied : 
O Nisus ! by the home-god powers 
We jointly reverence, yours and ours. 



144 NATIONAL EPICS. 

The god of ancient Capys' line, 
And Vesta's venerable shrine, 
By these dread sanctions I appeal 
To you, the masters of my weal ; 
Oh, bring me back my sire again ! 
Restore him, and I feel no pain. 
Two massy goblets will 1 give ; 
Rich sculptures on the silver live ; 

The plunder of my sire, 
What time he took Arisba's hold ; 
Two chargers, talents twain of gold, 
A bowl beside of antique mould 

By Dido brought from Tyre. 
Then, too, if ours the lot to reign 
O'er Italy by conquest ta'en, 

And each man's spoil assign, — 
Saw ye how Turnus rode yestreen. 
His horse and arms of golden sheen ? 
That horse, that shield and glowing crest 
I separate, Nisus, from the rest 

And count already thine. 
Twelve female slaves, at your desire, 
Twelve captives with their arms entire, 
My sire shall give you, and the plain 
That forms Latinus' own domain. 
But you, dear youth, of worth divine, 
Whose blooming years are nearer mine, 
Here to my heart I take, and choose 
My comrade for whate'er ensues. 
No glory will I e'er pursue, 
Unmotived by the thought of you : 
Let peace or war my state befall. 
Thought, word, and deed, you share them all.' 
The youth replied: " No after day 
This hour's fair promise shall betray. 
Be fate but kind. Yet let me claim 
One favor, more than all you name : 
A mother in the camp is mine, 
Derived from Priam's ancient line : 
No home in Sicily or Troy 
Has kept her from her darling boy. 
She knows not, she, the paths I tread; 
I leave her now, no farewell said ; 
By night and this your hand I swear, 
A parent's tears I could not bear. 
Vouchsafe your pity, and engage 
To solace her unchilded age : 
And I shall meet whate'er betide 
By such assurance fortified." 
With sympathy and tender grief 
All melt in tears, lulus chief. 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 

As filial love in other shown 

Recalled the semblance of his own : 

And, " Tell your doubting heart," he cries, 

" All blessings wait your high emprise : 

I take your mother for my own, 

Creusa, save in name alone, 

Nor lightly deem the affection due 

To her who bore a child like you. 

Come what come may, I plight my troth 

By this my head, my father's oath, 

The bounty to yourself decreed 

Should favoring gods your journey speed, 

The same shall in your line endure. 

To parent and to kin made sure." 

He spoke, and weeping still, untied 

A gilded falchion from his side, 

Lycaon's work, the man of Crete, 

With sheath of ivory complete : 

Brave Mnestheus gives for Nisus' wear 

A lion's hide with shaggy hair ; 

Aletes, old in danger grown. 

His helmet takes, and gives his own. 

Then to the gates, as forth they fare, 

The band of chiefs with many a prayer 

The gallant twain attends : 
lulus, manlier than his years, 
Oft whispering, for his father's ears 

Full many a message sends : 
But be it message, be it prayer, 
Alike 'tis lost, dispersed in air. 

The trenches past, through night's deep gloom 

The hostile camp they near : 
Yet many a foe shall meet his doom 

Or ere that hour appear. 
There see they bodies stretched supine, 
O'ercome with slumber and with wine ; 
The cars, unhorsed, are drawn up high ; 
'Twixt wheels and harness warriors lie, 
With arms and goblets on the grass 
In undistinguishable mass. 
" Now," Nisus cried, " for hearts and hands : 
This, this the hour our force demands. 
Here pass we : yours the rear to mind, 
Lest hostile arm be raised behind; 
Myself will go before and slay, 
While carnage opes a broad highway." 
So whispers he with bated breath, 
And straight begins the work of death 

On Rhamnes, haughty lord ; 
10 



145 



146 NATIONAL EPICS. 

On rugs he lay, in gorgeous heap, 
From all his bosom breathing sleep, 
A royal seer by Turnus loved : 
But all too weak his seer-craft proved 

To stay the rushing sword. 
Three servants next the weapon found 
Stretched 'mid their armor on the ground : 
Then Remus' charioteer he spies 
Beneath the coursers as he lies, 

And lops his downdropt head ; 
The ill-starred master next he leaves, 
A headless trunk, that gasps and heaves : 
Forth spouts the blood from every vein, 
And deluges with crimson rain, 

Green earth and broidered bed. 
Then Lamyrus and Lamus died, 
Serranus, too, in youth's fair pride: 
That night had seen him long at play : 
Now by the dream-god tamed he lay : 
Ah, had his play but matched the night, 
Nor ended till the dawn of light ! 
So famished lion uncontrolled 
Makes havoc through the teeming fold, 

As frantic hunger craves ; 
Mangling and harrying far and near 
The meek, mild victims, mute with fear, 

With gory jaws he raves. 
Nor less Euryalus performs : 
The thirst of blood his bosom warms ; 
'Mid nameless multitudes he storms, 
Herbesus, Fadus, Abaris kills 
Slumbering and witless of their ills. 
While Rhoetus wakes and sees the whole, 
But hides behind a massy bowl. 
There, as to rise the trembler strove. 
Deep in his breast the sword he drove, 

And bathed in death withdrew. 
The lips disgorge the life's red flood, 
A mingled stream of wine and blood : 

He plies his blade anew. 
Now turns he to Messapus' band, 

For there the fires he sees 
Burnt out, while coursers hard at hand 

Are browsing at their ease. 
When Nisus marks the excess of zeal. 
The maddening fever of the steel. 
And checks him thus with brief appeal : 
" Forbear we now ; 't will soon be day : 
Our wrath is slaked, and hewn our way." 
Full many a spoil they leave behind 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 

Of solid silver thrice refined, 

Armor and bowls of costliest mould 

And rugs in rich confusion rolled. 

A belt Euryalus puts on 

With golden knobs, from Rhamnes won j 

Of old by Csedicus 't was sent, 

An absent friendship to cement, 

To Remulus, fair Tibur's lord, 

Who, dying, to his grandson left 
The shining prize : the Rutule sword 

In after days the trophy reft. 
Atjiwart his manly chest in vain 
He binds these trappings of the slain; 
Then 'neath his chin in triumph laced 
Messapus' helm, with plumage graced. 
The camp at length they leave behind, 
And round the lake securely wind. 

Meanwhile a troop is on its way, 

From Latium's city sped, 
An offshoot from the host that lay 
Along the host in close array. 
Three hundred horsemen, sent to bring 
A message back to Turnus, king. 

With Volscens at their head. 
Now to the camp they draw them nigh, 

Beneath the rampart's height. 
When from afar the twain they spy, 

Still steering from the right ; 
The helmet through the glimmering shade 
At once the unwary boy betrayed. 

Seen in the moon's full light. 
Not lost the sight on jealous eyes : 
" Ho ! stand ! who are ye ? " Volscens cries, 

" Whence come, or whitlier tend ? " 
No movement deign they of reply, 
But swifter to the forest fly. 

And make the night their friend. 
With fatal speed the mounted foes 
Each avenue as with network close, 

And every outlet bar. 
It was a forest bristling grim 
With shade of ilex, dense and dim : 
Thick brushwood all the ground o'ergrew : 
The tangled ways a path ran through, 

Faint glimmering like a star. 
The darkling boughs, the cumbering prey 
Euryalus's flight delay : 
His courage fails, his footsteps stray: 

But Nisus onward flees ; 



147 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

No thought he takes, till now at last 

The enemy is all o'erpast, 

E'en at the grove, since Alban called. 

Where then Latinus' herds were stalled: 

Sudden he pauses, looks behind 

In eager hope his friend to find : 

In vain : no friend he sees. 
" Euryalus, my chiefest care. 
Where left I you, unhappy? where? 
What clue may guide my erring tread 
This leafy labyrinth back to thread ? " 
Then, noting each remembered track, 
He thrids the wood, dim-seen and black. 
• Listening, he hears the horse-hoofs' beat, 
The clatter of pursuing feet. 
A little moment — shouts arise, 
And lo ! Euryalus he spies, 
Whom now the foemen's gathered throng 
Is hurrying helplessly along. 
While vain resistance he essays. 
Trapped by false night and treacherous ways. 
What should he do ? what force employ 
To rescue the beloved boy ? 
Plunge through the spears that line the wood, 
And death and glory win with blood ? 
Not unresolved, he poises soon 
A javelin, looking to the Moon : 
" Grant, goddess, grant thy present aid, 
Queen of the stars, Latonian maid, 

The greenwood's guardian power ; 
If, grateful for success of mine, 
With gifts my sire has graced thy shrine, 
If e'er myself have brought thee spoil. 
The tribute of my hunter's toil, 
To ornament thy roof divine, 

Or glitter on thy tower, 
These masses give me to confound, 
And guide through air my random wound." 
He spoke, and hurled with all his might ; 
The swift spear hurtles through the night : 
Stout Sulmo's back the stroke receives : 
The wood, though snapped, the midrifif cleaves. 
He falls, disgorging life's warm tide, 
And long-drawn sobs distend his side. 
All gaze around : another spear 
The avenger levels from his ear, 

And launches on the sky. 
Tagus hes pierced through temples twain, 
The dart deep buried in his brain. 
Fierce Volscens storms, yet finds no foe, 



THE STORY OF THE ^NEID. 149 

Nor sees the hand that dealt the blow, 

Nor knows on whom to fly. 
" Your heart's warm blood for both shall pay," 
He cries, and on his beauteous prey 

With naked sword he sprang. 
Scared, maddened, Nisus shrieks aloud : 
No more he hides in night's dark shroud, 

Nor bears the o'erwhelming pang : 
" Me, guilty me, make me your aim, 
O Rutules ! mine is all the blame ; 
He did no wrong, nor e'er could do ; 
That sky, those stars attest 't is true ; 
Love for his friend too freely shown, 
This was his crime, and this alone." 
In vain he spoke : the sword, fierce driven, 
That alabaster breast had riven. 
Down falls Euryalus, and lies 
In death's enthralling agonies : 
Blood trickles o'er his limbs of snow ; 
" His head sinks gradually low " : 
Thus, severed by the ruthless plough, 

Dim fades a purple flower : 
Their weary necks so poppies bow, 

O'erladen by the shower. 
But Nisus on the midmost flies. 
With Volscens, Volscens in his eyes: 
In clouds the warriors round him rise, 

Thick hailing blow on blow : 
Yet on he bears, no stint, no stay; 
Like thunderbolt his falchion's sway : 
Till as for aid the Rutule shrieks 
Plunged in his throat the weapon reeks : 
The dying hand has reft away 

The life-blood of its foe. 
Then, pierced to death, asleep he fell 
On the dead breast he loved so well. 

Blest pair ! if aught my verse avail, 
No day shall make your memory fail 

From off the heart of time. 
While Capitol abides in place, 
The mansion of the ^neian race, 
And throned upon that moveless base 

Rome's father sits sublime. 

Conington' s Translation, Book IX. 



BEOWULF. 

BEOWULF, the only Anglo-Saxon epic preserved entire, 
was composed in southwest Sweden probably before 
the eighth century, and taken to England, where it was 
worked over and Christianized by the Northumbrian poets. 

It is variously attributed to the fifth, seventh, and eighth 
centuries ; but the seventh is most probably correct, since 
the Higelac of the poem has been identified with Chocilaicus 
of the " Gesta Regura Francorum," a Danish king who in- 
vaded Gaul in the days of Theuderic, son of Clovis, and died 
near the close of the sixth century. 

The only manuscript of the poem in existence is thought 
to be of the tenth century. It is preserved in the British 
Museum. Since 1837 much interest has been manifested in 
the poem, and many editions of it have been given to the 
public. 

Beowulf contains three thousand one hundred and eighty- 
four hnes. It is written in alHterative verse. The lines are 
written in pairs, and each perfect line contains three alliterat- 
ing words, — two in the first part, and one in the second. 

The unknown writer of Beowulf cannot be praised for his 
skill in composition ; the verse is rude, as was the language 
in which it was written. But it is of the greatest interest to 
us because of the pictures it gives of the everyday lives of 
the people whose heroic deeds it relates, — the drinking in 
the mead-halls, the relation of the king to his warriors, the 
description of the armor, the ships, and the halls. The 
heroes are true Anglo-Saxon types, — bold, fearless, ready 
to go to the assistance of any one in trouble, no matter how 
great the risk to themselves ; and as ready to drink mead 
and boast of their valor after the peril is over. In spite of 



1^2 NATIONAL EPICS. 

the attempt to Christianize the poem, it is purely pagan ; the 
most careless reader can discover the priestly interpolations. 
And it has the greater value to us because it refused to be 
moulded by priestly hands, but remained the rude but heroic 
monument of our Saxon ancestors. 

Bibliography and Criticism, Beowulf. B. Ten Brink's 
Early EngHsh Literature, Tr. by Kennedy ; S. A. Brooke's 
History of Early English Literature, 1892, p. 12; W. F. 
Collier's History of English Literature, p. 19 ; G. W. Cox 
and E. H. Jones's Popular Romances of the Middle Ages, 
1871, pp. 382-398; in 1880 ed. pp. 189-20J,; Isaac Dis- 
raeli's xA-menities of Literature, i. 65-73 j^J-'Earle's Anglo- 
Saxon Literature ; T. W. Hunt's Ethical Teaching in 
Beowulf (in his Ethical Teachings in Old English Literature, 
1892, pp. 66-77) ; \JI. Morley's English Writers, 1887, pp. 
276-354 ; H. A. Taine's History of Enghsh Literature, 1886, 
i. 62 ; S. Turner's Anglo-Saxons, iii. 326; in ed. 3, i. 456; 
J. Harrison's Old Teutonic Life in Beowulf (in the Over- 
land Monthly, July, 1894) ; F. A. March's The World of 
Beowulf (in Proceedings of American Philological Associa- 
tion, 1882). 

Standard English Translations, BEO\\njLF. Beowulf, 
edition with English translation, notes and glossary by Thomas 
Arnold, 1876; The Deeds of Beowulf, 1892; Beowulf, Tr. 
by J. M. Garnett, 1882 (translated line for line) \ Beowulf, 
Tr. by J. L. Hall, 1892, metrical translation ; Beowulf, Tr. by 
J. M. Kemble, with copious glossary, preface, and philologi- 
cal notes, 2 vols., 1833-37 ; Beowulf translated into modern 
rhymes, by H. W. Lumsden, 188 1 ; Beowulf, Tr. by Benja- 
min Thorpe, Literal translation, notes and glossary, 1875. 



BEOWULF. 153 



THE STORY OF BEOWULF. 

A MIGHTY man was Scyld, ruler of the Gar-Danes. From 
far across the whale-path men paid him tribute and bore wit- 
ness to his power. Beowulf was his son, a youth endowed 
with glory, whose fame spread far and wide through all the 
Danish land. 

When the time came for Scyld to die he ordered his 
thanes to prepare the ring-stemmed ship, laden with treas- 
ures, battle-weed, and swords, and place him in the death- 
chamber. Laden with his people's gifts, and saihng under a 
golden banner, he passed from sight, none knew whither. 

After him ruled Beowulf, and after him Healfdene, — brave 
warriors and kind monarchs. When, after Healfdene's death, 
his son Hrothgar succeeded him, his fame in war inclined 
all his kinsmen towards him, and he, too, became a mighty 
monarch. 

To the mind of Hrothgar it came to build a lordly mead- 
hall where he and his men could find pleasure in feasting, 
drinking mead, and hearing the songs of the minstrels. 
Heorot it was called, and when its high spires rose glistening 
in the air, all hailed it with delight. 

But, alas ! The joy in hall, the melody of the harp, and 
the shouts of the warriors penetrated to the dismal fen where 
lay concealed the monster Grendel, descendant of sin-cursed 
Cain. At night came Grendel to the hall, found sleeping 
the troop of warriors, and bore away in his foul hands thirty 
of the honored thanes. Great was the sorrow in Heorot 
when in the morning twilight the deed of Grendel became 
known. 

For twelve long winters did this sorrow continue ; for so 
long a time was Hrothgar plunged in grief; for so many 
years did this beautiful mead-hall, destined for joyful things, 
stand idle. 

While thus the grief-stricken lord of the Scyldings brooded 
over his wrongs, and the people besought their idols vainly 



154 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



for aid, the tidings of Grendel's ravages were conveyed to 
the court of the Gothic king, Higelac, and thus reached the 
ears of a highborn thane, Beowulf A strong man was he, 
his grasp equal to that of thirty men. 

Straightway commanded he a goodly ship to be made 
ready, chose fifteen of his bravest Goths, and swiftly they 
sailed over the swan-path to the great headlands and bright 
sea-cliffs of the Scyldings. 

High on the promontory stood the guard of Hrothgar. 
"What men be ye who hither come?" cried he. "Not 
foes, surely. Ye know no pass word, yet surely ye come on 
no evil errand. Ne'er saw I a greater lord than he who 
leads the band. Who are ye?" 

" Higelac's man am I," answered the leader. " Ecgtheow, 
my sire ; my name, Beowulf. Lead me, I pray thee, to thy 
lord, for I have come over seas to free him forever from his 
secret foe, and to lift the cloud that hangs over the stately 
me ad- hall." 

Over the stone-paved streets the warder led the warriors, 
their armor clanking, their boar-tipped helmets sparkhng, to 
the goodly hall, Heorot. There were they warmly welcomed, 
for Hrothgar had known Beowulf's sire ; the fame of the 
young man's strength had also reached him, and he trusted 
that in his strong grasp Grendel should die. 

All took their seats on the mead-benches, and a thane 
passed from warrior to warrior, bearing the chased wine- cup. 
Sweet was the minstrel's song, and the warriors were happy 
in Heorot. 

But Hunferd sat at the banquet, and envious of Beowulfs 
fame, taunted him with his swimming match with Breca. 
" Seven days and nights thou didst swim with Breca ; but 
he was stronger, and he won. Worse will befall thee, if thou 
dar'st this night await Grendel ! " 

" Easy it is to brag of Breca's deeds when drunk with 
beer, friend Hunferd ! " replied Beowulf " Seven days and 
nights I swam through the sea-water, slaying the monsters of 
the deep. Rough was the wave, terrible were the water 
beasts ; but I reached the Finnish land. Wert thou as brave 



THE STORY OF BEOWULF. 



155 



as thou claim'st to be, Grendel would ne'er have wrought 
such havoc in thy monarch's land." 

Decked with gold, Queen Waltheow passed through the 
hall, greeted the warriors, and proffered the mead-cup to 
Beowulf, thanking God that she had found an earl who 
would deliver them from their enemy. 

When dusky night fell over Heorot, the king uprose. 
" To no other man have I ever entrusted this hall of gold. 
Have now and keep it ! Great reward shall be thine if thou 
come forth alive !" 

The knights left in the lordly hall composed themselves 
for slumber, all save Beowulf, who, unarmed, awaited the 
coming of Grendel. 

He came, with wrathful step and eyes aflame, bursting 
open the iron bolts of the great door, and laughing at the 
goodly array of men sleeping before him. On one he laid 
hands and drank his blood ; then he clutched the watchful 
Beowulf. 

Ne'er had he found a foe like this ! Fearful, he turned to 
flee to his home in the fen, but the grip of Beowulf forbade 
flight. Strongly was Heorot builded, but many a gilded 
mead-bench was torn from the walls as the two combated 
within the hall. The sword blade was of no avail, and him 
must Beowulf bring to death by the strength of his grip alone. 
At last, with a scream that struck terror to every Dane's 
heart, the monster sprang from Beowulf and fled, leaving in 
the warrior's grasp his arm and shoulder. Great was Beo- 
wulf's joy, for he knew that the wound meant death. 

When the king and queen came forth in the morning with 
their nobles and maids, and saw the grisly arm of Grendel 
fastened upon the roof of Heorot, they gave themselves up 
to rejoicing' Gifts were heaped upon Beowulf, — a golden 
crest, a banner bright, a great and goodly sword and helm 
and corselet, eight steeds with headstalls ornamented with 
gold plate, and a richly decorated saddle. Nor were his 
comrades forgotten, but to each were given rich gifts. 

When the mead-hall had been cleansed and refitted, they 
gathered therein and listened to the song of the bard who 



156 NATIONAL EPICS. 

told how Healfdene's knight, Hnsef, smote Finn. The song 
over, the queen, crowned with gold, gave gifts to Beowulf, 
the liberator from the horrors of Grendel, — two armlets, a 
necklace^ raiment, and rings. When the drinking and feast- 
ing were over, the king and Beowulf withdrew, leaving many 
earls to keep the hall. Little guessed they that one of them 
was that night doomed to die ! 

The haunt of Grendel was a mile-wide mere. Around it 
were wolf-haunted cliffs, windy promontories, mist-covered 
mountains. Close around the mere hung the woods, shroud- 
ing the water, which, horrible sight, was each night covered 
with fire. It was a place accursed ; near it no man might 
dwell ; the deer that plunged therein straightway died. 

In a palace under the mere dwelt Grendel and his mother ; 
she, a foul sprite, whom the peasants had sometimes seen 
walking with her son over the meadows. From her dwelling- 
place she now came forth to avenge the death of her son, 
and snatched away from the group of sleeping Ring-Danes 
the good ^schere, dearest of all his thanes to Hrothgar. 

Loud was Hrothgar's wailing when at morning Beowulf 
came forth from his bower. 

" Sorrow not, O wise man," spake Beowulf. " I fear not. 
I will seek out this monster and destroy her. If I come not 
back it will at least be better than to have lost my glory. 
She can never hide from me. I ween that I will this day 
rid thee of thine enemy." 

Accompanied by Hrothgar, some of the Ring-Danes and 
his Goths, Beowulf sought the dismal mere, on whose brink 
they found the head of ^schere. Among the bloody waves 
swam horrible shapes, Nicors and sea-drakes, that fled at a 
blast of the war-horn. Beowulf slew one of the monsters, 
and while his companions were marvelling at the grisly form, 
he prepared himself for the combat. His breast was guarded 
by a coat of mail woven most cunningly ; upon his head 
shone the gold-adorned helmet, and in his hand was Hun- 
ferd's sword, Hrunting, made of iron steeped in twigs of 
bitter poison, annealed in battle blood, and fearful to every 
foe. 



THE STORY OF BEOWULF. 



157 



" Hearken unto me, O Hrothgar," cried the hero. " If I 
return not, treat well my comrades and send my gifts to 
Higelac, that he may see the deed I have accomplished, and 
the generous ring-lord I have gained among the Scyldings." 
And without waiting for a reply, he leaped into the waves 
and was lost to sight. 

There was the monster waiting for him ; and catching him 
in her grip, which bruised him not because of his strong mail- 
coat, she dragged him to her cave, in whose lighted hall he 
could see the horrible features of the woman of the mere. 
Strong was Hrunting, but of no avail was its mighty blade 
against her. Soon he threw it down, and gripped her, reck- 
less of peril. Once he threw her on the ground, but the 
second time she threw him, and drew her glaive to pierce 
his breast. Strong was the linked mail, and Beowulf was 
safe. Then his quick eye lighted on a sword, — a magic, 
giant sword ; few men could wield it. Quickly he grasped 
it, and smote the neck of the sea-woman. Broken were the 
bone-rings, and down she fell dead. Then Ecgtheow's son 
looked around the hall and saw the body of the dead Gren- 
del. Thirsting to take his revenge, he smote him with his 
sword. Off flew the head ; but when the red drops of blood 
touched the magic blade it melted, leaving but the massive 
golden hilt in the hands of the hero. Beowulf took no 
treasure from the cave, but rose through the waves, carrying 
only the head of the monster and the hilt of the sword. 

When Hrothgar and his men saw the mere red and boil- 
ing with blood they deemed that Beowulf was dead, and 
departed to their citadel. Sorrowful sat the comrades of 
Beowulf, waiting and hoping against hope for his reappear- 
ance. Up sprang they when they saw him, joyfully greeted 
him, relieved him of his bloody armor, and conducted him 
to Hrothgar, bearing — a heavy task — the head of Grendel. 

When Hrothgar saw the hideous head and the mighty 
sword-hilt, whose history he read from its Runic inscrip- 
tions, he hailed Beowulf with joy, and proclaimed him the 
mightiest of men. " But ever temper thy might with wis- 
dom," advised the king, " that thou suffer not the end of 



I5S 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



Heremod, or be punished as I have been, in this my spa- 
cious mead-hall." • 

After a night's rest, Beowulf prepared to return to his 
country. Returning Hrunting to Hunferd, he praised the 
sword, saying nothing of its failure in the fight. Then to 
Hrothgar : " Farewell. If e'er thou art harried by foes, but 
let me know, — a thousand fighting men I '11 bring. Higelac, 
well I know, will urge me on to honor thee. If e'er thy son 
seeks Gothic halls, I will intercede and win friends for him."' 

The old king, weeping, bade Beowulf farewell. " Peace 
be forever between the Goths and the Gar-Danes ; in com- 
mon their treasures ! May gifts be interchanged between 
them ! " 

The bark was filled with the gifts heaped upon Beowulf 
and his men ; and the warder, who had hailed them so 
proudly at their coming, now bade them an affectionate 
farewell. Over the swan-path sailed they, and soon reached 
the Gothic coast, and landed their treasures. 

Then went Beowulf before Higelac and told him of his 
adventures. Higelac was a mighty king ; lofty his house 
and hall, and fair and gentle was his wife, Hygd. To him, 
after he had related his adventures, Beowulf presented the 
boar-head crest, the battle-mail and sword, four of the 
steeds, and much treasure, and upon the wise and modest 
Hygd bestowed he the wondrous necklace given him by 
Waltheow. So should a good thane ever do ! 

There had been a time when Beowulf was accounted a 
sluggish knight, but now the land rang with his glory. 

When Higelac died and Hardred was slain, Beowulf suc- 
ceeded to the throne, and for fifty years ruled the people 
gloriously. 

At this time a great fire-drake cherished a vast hoard in a 
cave on a high cHfif, difficult of access, and known to few 
men. Thither one day fled a thrall from his master's wrath, 
and saw the hoard buried by some weary warrior, and now 
guarded by the dragon. While the drake slept, the thrall 
crept in and stole a cup as a peace-offering to his master. 

When the drake awoke, he scented the foot-prints of the 



THE STORY OF BEOWULF. 



159 



foe, and discovered his loss. When even was come, he 
hastened to wreak his revenge on the people, spewing out 
flames of fire, and laying waste the land. 

Far and near were the lands of the Goths devastated, and 
ere long, tidings were borne to Beowulf that his great hall, 
his gift seat, was destroyed by fire. Saddened, and fearing 
that he had in some way angered God, he turned his mind 
to vengeance, and girded on his armor. A stout shield of 
iron he took, knowing that the dragon's fiery breath would 
melt the wood, and with foreboding of his fate, bade fare- 
well to his hearth-mates. " Many times have I battled, 
great deeds have I done with sword and with hand-grip ; 
now must I go forth and battle with hand and sword against 
the hoard-keeper." 

Commanding the men who had accompanied him to re- 
main upon the hillside, leaving him to combat with the 
dragon alone, Beowulf went proudly forward, shouting his 
battle-cry. Out rushed the dragon, full of deadly hate. His 
fiery breath was stronger than the king had deemed it. 
Stroke upon stroke he gave his enemy, who continued to 
cast forth his death- fire, so that Beowulf stood girt with 
flames. 

From afar, among the watching thanes, Wiglaf saw his 
monarch's peril. "Comrades," he cried, "do you remem- 
ber our promises to our king? Was it for this he stirred us 
up to glorious deeds ? Was it for this he heaped gifts upon 
us? Let us go to his rescue. It is not right that we should 
see our lord fall, and bear away our shields untouched ! " 

Rushing forward, he cried, " Beowulf, here am I ! Now 
strike for thy life ! Thou hast said that thou never wouldst 
let thy fame depart from thee! " 

Again the dragon came forth ; again it enveloped its foe- 
man in flames. The linden shield of Wiglaf burned in his 
hands, and he sought shelter behind Beowulf s shield of iron. 
Again and again Wiglaf smote the monster, and when the 
flames burnt low, Beowulf seized his dirk and pierced the 
dragon so that he fell dead. 

The dragon lay dead, but Beowulf felt the poison in his 



l6o NATIONAL EPICS. 

wounds and knew that he had not long to Hve. He com- 
manded Wiglaf to bring forth the treasure that he might 
gaze upon the hoard, — jewel work and twisted gold, — that 
he had wrested from the fire-drake. 

The den was filled with rings of gold, cups, banners, 
jewels, dishes, and the arms of the old owner of the treas- 
ure. All these did Wiglaf bear forth to his lord, who sur- 
veyed them, and uttered thanks to his Maker, that he could 
win such a treasure. Then, turning to Wiglaf, he said, 
'* Now I die. Build for me upon the lofty shore a bright 
mound that shall ever remind my people of me. Far in 
the distance their ships shall descry it, and they shall call it 
Beowulf's mound." Then, giving his arms to Wiglaf, he 
bade him enjoy them. " Thou art the last of our race. All 
save us, fate-driven, are gone to doom. Thither go I too." 

Bitterly did Wiglaf denounce his comrades when he saw 
them steal from their hiding-places. "Well may it be said 
of you that he who gave you your arms threw them away. 
No thanks deserve ye for the slaughter of the dragon ! I 
did my little, but it was not in my power to save my kins- 
man. Too few helpers stood about him ! Now shall your 
kin be wanting in gifts. Void are ye of land-rights ! Better 
is it for an earl to die than to live with a blasted name ! " 

Sorrowful were the people when they heard of the death 
of Beowulf. Full well they knew with what joy the tidings 
would be hailed by their enemies, who would hasten to 
harry the land, now that their great leader was gone. The 
Frisians, the ^Merovingians, the Franks, the Swedes, — all had 
their grievances, which they would hasten to wreak on the 
Goths when they learned that the dreaded king was gone. 
Dreary would be the land of the Goths ; on its battle-fields 
the wolves would batten ; the ravens would call to the 
eagles as they feasted on the slain. 

Straight to the Eagle's Nest went the band, and found 
their dead monarch ; there, too, lay the loathsome fire- 
drake, full fifty feet long, and between them the great hoard, 
rust-eaten from long dwelling in the earth. Ever had that 
hoard brought ill with it. 



THE STORY OF BEOWULF. i6i 

Down from the cliff they thrust the dragon into the deep, 
and carried their chief to Hron^sness. There they built a 
lofty pile, decked it with his armor, and burned thereon the 
body of their glorious ruler. According to his wish, they 
reared on the cliff a broad, high barrow, surrounded it with 
a wall, and laid within it the treasure. There yet it lies, of 
little worth to men ! 

Then around the barrow rode twelve of the bravest, 
boldest nobles, mourning their king, singing his praises, 
chanting a dirge, telling of his glorious deeds, while over 
the broad land the Gothic folk lamented the death of their 
tender prince, their noble king, Beowulf. 

SELECTION FROM BEOWULF. 

Grendel's Mother. 

There was great rejoicing in Heorot when Beowulf slew 
Grendel, and at night the earls again slept in the hall as they 
had not dared to do since the coming of the fiend. But Gren- 
del's mother came to avenge her son's death and slew ^Eschere, 
a favorite liegeman of Hrothgar's. In the morning, Beowulf, 
who had slept in another part of the palace, was sent for and 
greeted Hrothgar, unaware of his loss. 

Hrothgar rejoined, helm of the Scyldings : 

"Ask not of joyance! Grief is renewed to 

The folk of the Danemen. Dead is ^Eschere, 

Yrmenlaf's brother, older than he, 

My true-hearted counsellor, trusty adviser. 

Shoulder-companion, when fighting in battle 

Our heads we protected, when troopers were clashing, 

And heroes were dashing ; such an earl should be ever, 

An erst-worthy atheling, as ^schere proved him. 

The flickering death-spirit became in Heorot 

His hand-to-hand murderer ; I cannot tell whither 

The cruel one turned, in the carcass exulting, 

By cramming discovered. The quarrel she wreaked then, 

The last night igone Grendel thou killedst 

In grewsomest manner, with grim-holding clutches. 

Since too long he had lessened my liege-troop and wasted 

My folk-men so foully. He fell in the battle 

With forfeit of Hfe, and another has followed, 

A mighty crime-worker, her kinsman avenging. 



l62 NATIONAL EPICS. 

And henceforth hath 'stablished her hatred unyielding, 

As it well may appear to many a liegeman, 

Who mourneth in spirit the treasure-bestovver, 

Her heavy heart-sorrow ; the hand is now lifeless 

Which availed you in every wish that you cherished. 

Land-people heard I, liegemen, this saying, 

Dwellers in halls, they had seen very often 

A pair of such mighty march-striding creatures, 

Far-dwelling spirits, holding the moorlands : 

One of them wore, as well they might notice, 

The image of woman, the other one wretched 

In guise of a man wandered in exile. 

Except that he was huger than any of earthmen ; 

Earth-dwelling people entitled him Grendel 

In days of yore ; they knew not their father, 

Whe'r ill-going spirits any were borne him 

Ever before. They guard the wolf-coverts, 

Lands inaccessible, wind-beaten nesses, 

Fearfullest fen-deeps, where a flood from the mountains 

'Neath mists of the nesses netherward rattles. 

The stream under earth : not far is it henceward 

Measured by mile-lengths that the mere-water standeth, 

Which forests hang over, with frost-whiting covered, 

A firm-rooted forest, the floods overshadow. 

There ever at night one an ill-meaning portent 

A fire-flood may see ; 'mong children of men 

None liveth so wise that wot of the bottom ; 

Though harassed by hounds the heath-stepper seek for, 

Fly to the forest, firm-antlered he-deer, 

Spurred from afar, his spirit he yieldeth. 

His life on the shore, ere in he will venture 

To cover his head. Uncanny the place is : 

Thence upward ascendeth the surging of waters, 

Wan to the welkin, when the wind is stirring 

The weathers unpleusing, till the air groweth gloomy, 

And the heavens lower. Now is help to be gotten 

From thee and thee only ! The abode thou know'st not, 

The dangerous place where thou 'rt able to meet with 

The sin-laden hero : seek if thou darest ! 

For the feud I will fully fee thee with money. 

With old-time treasure, as erstwhile I did thee. 

With well-twisted jewels, if away thou shalt get thee." 

Beowulf answered, Ecgtheow's son : 

" Grieve not, O wise one ! for each it is better, 

His friend to avenge than with vehemence wail him; 

Each of us must the end-day abide of 

His earthly existence ; who is able accomplish 

Glory ere death ! To battle-thane noble 

Lifeless lying, 't is at last most fitting. 



THE STORY OF BEOWULF. 

Arise, O king, quick let us hasten 

To look at the footprint of the kinsman of Grendel ! 

I promise thee this now : to his place he '11 escape not, 

To embrace of the earth, nor to mountainous forest. 

Nor to depths of the ocean, wherever he wanders. 

Practice thou now patient endurance 

Of each of thy sorrows, as I hope for thee soothly ! " 

Then up sprang the old one, the All-Wielder thanked he, 

Ruler Almighty, that the man had outspoken. 

Then for Hrothgar a war-horse was decked with a bridle, 

Curly-maned courser. The clever folk-leader 

Stately proceeded : stepped then an earl-troop 

Of linden-wood bearers. Her foot-prints were seen then 

Widely in wood-paths, her way o'er the bottoms. 

Where she far-away fared o'er fen-country murky, 

Bore away breathless the best of retainers 

Who pondered with Hrothgar the welfare of country. 

The son of the athelings then went o'er the stony, 

Declivitous cliffs, the close-covered passes, 

Narrow passages, paths unfrequented, 

Nesses abrupt, nicker-haunts many ; 

One of a few of wise-mooded heroes. 

He onward advanced to view the surroundings, 

Till he found unawares woods of the mountain 

O'er hoar-stones hanging, holt-wood unjoyful; 

The water stood under, welling and gory. 

'T was irksome in spirit to all of the Danemen, 

Friends of the Scyldings, to many a liegeman 

Sad to be suffered, a sorrow unlittle 

To each of the earlmen, when to ^Eschere's head they 

Came on the cliff. The current was seething 

With blood and with gore (the troopers gazed on it). 

The horn anon sang the battle-song ready. 

The troop were all seated ; they saw 'long the water then 

Many a serpent, mere-dragons wondrous 

Trying the waters, nickers a-lying 

On the cliffs of the nesses, which at noonday full often 

Go on the sea-deeps their sorrowful journey, 

Wild-beasts and worm-kind ; away then they hastened 

Hot-mooded, hateful, they heard the great clamor, 

The war-trumpet winding. One did the Geat-prince 

Sunder from earth-joys, with arrow from bowstring, 

From his sea-struggle tore him, that the trusty war-missile 

Pierced to his vitals ; he proved in the currents 

Less doughty at swimming whom death had off-carried. 

Soon in the waters the wonderful swimmer 

Was straitened most sorely and pulled to the cliff-edge ; 

The liegemen then looked on the loath-fashioned stranger. 

Beowulf donned then his battle-equipments. 

Cared little for life; inlaid and most ample. 

The hand-woven corselet which could cover his body. 



163 



1 64 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Must the wave-deeps explore, that war might be powerless 

To harm the great hero, and the hating one's grasp might 

Not peril his safety ; his head was protected 

By the light-flashing helmet that should mix with the bottoms, 

Trying the eddies, treasure-emblazoned, 

Encircled with jewels, as in seasons long past 

The weapon-smith worked it, wondrously made it. 

With swine-bodies fashioned it, that thenceforward no longer 

Brand might bite it, and battle-sword hurt it. 

And that was not least of helpers in prowess 

That Hrothgar's spokesman had lent him when straitened ; 

And the hilted hand-sword was Hrunting entitled, 

Old and most excellent 'mong all of the treasures ; 

Its blade was of iron, blotted with poison. 

Hardened with gore ; it failed not in battle 

Any hero under heaven in hand who it brandished, 

Who ventured to take the terrible journeys, 

The battle-field sought ; not the earliest occasion 

That deeds of daring 't was destined to 'complish. 

Ecglaf's kinsman minded not soothly. 

Exulting in strength, what erst he had spoken 

Drunken with wine, when the weapon he lent to 

A sword-hero bolder ; himself did not venture 

'Neath the strife of the currents his life to endanger, 

To fame-deeds perform ; there he forfeited glory, 

Repute for his strength. Not so with the other 

When he, clad in his corselet, had equipped him for battle. 

Beowulf spoke, Ecgtheow's son: 

" Recall now, oh, famous kinsman of Healfdene, 

Prince very prudent, now to part I am ready. 

Gold-friend of earl-men, what erst we agreed on. 

Should I lay down my life in lending thee assistance, 

When my earth-joys were over, thou wouldst evermore serve me 

In stead of a father ; my faithful thanemen, 

My trusty retainers, protect thou and care for, 

Fall I in battle : and, Hrothgar beloved. 

Send unto Higelac the high-valued jewels 

Thou to me hast allotted. The lord of the Geatmen 

May perceive from the gold, the Hretliling may see it 

When he looks on the jewels, that a gem-giver found I 

Good over-measure, enjoyed him while able. 

And the ancient heirloom Unferth permit thou. 

The famed one to have, the heavy-sword splendid, 

The hard-edged weapon ; with Hrunting to aid me, 

I shall gain me glory, or grim death shall take me." 

The atheling of Geatmen uttered these words and 

Heroic did hasten, not any rejoinder 

Was willing to wait for; the wave-current swallowed 

The doughty-in-battle. Then a day's-length elapsed ere 

He was able to see the sea at its bottom. 



THE STORY OF BEOWULF. 

Early she found then who fifty of winters 

The course of the currents kept in her fury, 

Grisly and greedy, that the grim one's dominion 

Some one of men from above was exploring. 

Forth did she grab them, grappled the warrior 

With horrible clutches ; yet no sooner she injured 

His body unscathed : the burnie out-guarded, 

That she proved but powerless to pierce tlirough the armor, 

The limb-mail locked, with loath-grabbing fingers. 

The sea-wolf bare then, when bottomward came she. 

The ring-prince homeward, that he after was powerless. 

(He had daring to do it) to deal with his weapons, 

But many a mere-beast tormented him swimming, 

Flood-beasts no few with fierce-biting tusks did 

Break through his burnie, the brave one pursued they. 

The earl then discovered he was down in some cavern 

Where no water whatever anywise harmed him. 

And the clutch of the current could not come anear him, 

Since the roofed-hall prevented; brightness a-gleaming 

Fire-light he saw, flashing, resplendent. 

The good one saw then the sea-bottom"s monster, 

The mighty mere-woman ; he made a great onset 

With weapon-of-battle, his hand not desisted 

From striking, that war-blade struck on her head then 

A battle-song greedy. The stranger perceived then 

The sword would not bite, her life would not injure. 

But the falchion failed the folk prince when straitened; 

Erst had it often onsets encountered, 

Oft cloven the helmet, the fated one's armor : 

'T was the first time that ever the excellent jewel 

Had failed of its fame. Firm-mooded after. 

Not heedless of valor, but mindful of glory, 

Was Higelac's kinsman ; the hero-chief angry 

Cast then his carved-sword covered with jewels 

That it lay on earth, hard and steel-pointed; 

He hoped in his strength, his hand-grapple sturdy. 

So any must act whenever he thinketh 

To gain him in battle glory unending, 

And is reckless of living. The lord of the War-Geats 

(He shrank not from battle) seized by the shoulder 

The mother of Grendel ; then mighty in struggle 

Swung he his enemy, since his anger was kindled, 

That she fell to the floor. With furious grapple 

She gave him requital early thereafter. 

And stretched out to grab him ; the strongest of warriors 

Faint-mooded stumbled, till he fell in his traces, 

Foot-going champion. Then she sat on the hall-guest 

And wielded her war-knife wide-bladed, flashing, 

For her son would take vengeance, her one only bairn. 

His breast-armor woven bode on his shoulder ; 

It guarded his life, the entrance defended 



165 



1 66 NATIONAL EPICS. 

'Gainst sword-point and edges, Ecgtheow's son there 

Had fatally journeyed, champion of Geatmen, 

In the arms of the ocean, had the armor not given, 

Close-woven corselet, comfort and succor, 

And had God most holy not awarded the victory, 

All-knowing Lord; easily did heaven's 

Ruler most righteous arrange it with justice ; 

Uprose he erect ready for battle. 

Then he saw 'mid the war-gems a weapon of victory, 

An ancient giant-sword, of edges a-doughty, 

Glory of warriors : of weapons 't was choicest, 

Only 'twas larger than any man else was 

Able to bear in the battle-encounter, 

The good and splendid work of the giants. 

He grasped then the sword-hilt, knight of the Scyl dings, 

Bold and battle-grim, brandished his ring-sword, 

Hopeless of living, hotly he smote her, 

That the fiend-woman's neck firmly it grappled, 

Broke through her bone-joints, the bill fully pierced her 

Fate-cursed body, she fell to the ground then : 

The hand-sword was bloody, the hero exulted. 

The brand was brilliant, brightly it glimmered, 

Just as from heaven gemlike shmeth 

The torch of the firmament. He glanced 'long the building. 

And turned by the wall then, Higelac's vassal 

Raging and wrathful raised his battle-sword 

Strong by the handle. The edge was not useless 

To the hero-in-battle, but he speedily wished to 

Give Grendel requital for the many assaults he 

Had worked on the West-Danes not once, but often, 

When he slew in slumber the subjects of Hrothgar, 

Swallowed down fifteen sleeping retainers 

Of the folk of the Danemen, and fully as many 

Carried away, a horrible prey. 

He gave him requital, grim-raging champion, 

When he saw on his rest-place weary of conflict 

Grendel Ij'ing, of life-joys bereaved. 

As the battle at Heorot erstwhile had scathed him; 

His body far bounded, a blow when he suffered, 

Death having seized him, sword-smiting heavy, 

And he cut off his head then. Early this noticed 

The clever carles who as comrades of Hrothgar 

Gazed on the sea-deeps, that the surging wave-currents 

Were mightily mingled, the mere-flood was gory : 

Of the good one the gray-haired together held converse. 

The hoary of head, that they hoped not to see again 

The atheling ever, that exulting in victory 

He 'd return there to visit the distinguished folk-ruler : 

Then many concluded the mere-wolf had killed him. 

The ninth hour came then. From the ness-edge departed 



THE STORY OF BEOWULF. 167 

The bold-mooded Scyldings ; the gold-friend of heroes 

Homeward betook him. The strangers sat down then 

Soul-sick, sorrowful, the sea-waves regarding : 

They wished and yet weened not their well-loved friend-lord 

To see any more. The sword-blade began then, 

The blood having touched it, contracting and shrivelling 

With battle-icicles ; 'twas a wonderful marvel 

That it melted entirely, likest to ice when 

The Father unbindeth the bond of the frost and 

Unwindeth the wave-bands, He who wieldeth dominion 

Of time and of tides : a truth-firm Creator. 

Nor took he of jewels more in the dwelling. 

Lord of the Weders, though they lay all around him, 

Than the head and the handle handsome with jewels ; 

The brand early melted, burnt was the weapon : 

So hot was the blood, the strange-spirit poisonous 

That in it did perish. He early swam off then 

Who had bided in combat the carnage of haters, 

Went up through the ocean ; the eddies were cleansed, 

The spacious expanses, when the spirit from farland 

His life put aside and this short-lived existence. 

The seamen's defender came swimming to land then 

Doughty of spirit, rejoiced in his sea-gift, 

The bulky burden which he bore in his keeping. 

The excellent vassals advanced then to meet him, 

To God they were grateful, were glad in their chieftain, 

That to see him safe and sound was granted them. 

From the high-minded hero, then, helmet and burnie 

Were speedily loosened : the ocean was putrid, 

The water 'neath welkin weltered with gore. 

Forth did they fare, then, their footsteps retracing, 

Merry and mirthful, measured the earth-way, 

To highway familiar : men very daring 

Bare then the head from the sea-cliff, burdening 

Each of the earlmen, excellent-valiant. 

Four of them had to carry with labor 

The head of Grendel to the high towering gold-hall 

Upstuck on the spear, till fourteen most-valiant 

And battle-brave Geatmen came there going 

Straight to the palace : the prince of the people 

Measured the mead-ways, their mood-brave companion, 

The atheling of earlmen entered the building, 

Deed-valiant man, adorned with distinction. 

Doughty shield-warrior, to address King Hrothgar: 

Then hung by the hair, the head of Grendel 

Was borne to the building, where beer-thanes were drinking, 

Loth before earlmen and eke 'fore the lady: 

The warriors beheld then a wonderful sight. 

J. L. HaWs Translation, Parts XXI.-XXIV. 



THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 



THE Nibelungen Lied, or Song of the Nibelungen, was 
written about the beginning of the thirteenth century, 
though the events it chronicles belong to the sixth or seventh 
century. The manuscript poem was discovered about the 
middle of the eighteenth century. 

Lachmann asserts that the Nibelungen Lied consists of 
twenty songs of various dates and authorship ; other scholars, 
while agreeing that it is the work of a single author, ascribe 
it variously to Conrad von Kurenburger, Wolfram von Esch- 
enbach, Heinrich von Ofterdingen, and Walther von der 
Vogelweide. 

Whoever was its author, he was only a compiler of legends 
that were the property of the people for centuries, and are 
found in many other of the popular German epics of the 
Middle Ages. 

The poem consists of thirty-nine adventures, containing 
two thousand four hundred and fifty-nine stanzas of four 
lines each. The action covers thirty years. It is based on 
material obtained from four sources : (i) The Frankish 
saga-cycle, whose hero is Siegfried ; (2) the saga-cycle of 
Burgundy, whose heroes are Giinther, king of Worms, and 
his two brothers ; (3) the Ostrogothic saga-cycle, whose hero 
is Dietrich of Bern ; and (4) the saga-cycle of Etzel, king of 
the Huns, with his allies and vassals. 

Dietrich of Bern is supposed to be Theodoric of Italy, in 
exile at the Hunnish court. Etzel is Attila the Hun, and 
Giinther, Gunducarius, king of the Burgundians, who was 
destroyed by the Huns with his followers in the year 436. 

The Nibelungen Lied very much resembles the Iliad, not 
only in the uncertainty of its origin and the impersonality of 



lyo 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



its author, but also in its objectivity, its realism, the primitive 
passions of its heroes, and the wondrous acts of valor per- 
formed by them. It contains many passages of wonderful 
beauty, and gives a striking picture of the social customs and 
the religious belief of the time. 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Nibelungen Lied. 
Mary Elizabeth Burt's Story of the German Iliad, 1892 ; 
Thomas Carlyle's Nibelungen Lied (see his Miscellaneous 
Essays, 1869, vol. iii., pp. 111-162) ; Sir G. W. Cox and 
E. H. Jones's Nibelungen Lied (see their Tales of the 
Teutonic Lands, 1872, pp. 79-132) ; G. T. Dippold's Nibe- 
lungenlied (see his Great Epics of Mediaeval Germany, 
1882, pp. 1-117); William T. Dobson's Nibelungenlied 
Epitomized (see his Classic Poets, 1878) ; Auber Forestier's 
Echoes from Mistland, or the Nibelungen Lay Revealed, 
Tr. by A. A. Woodward, 1877 ; Joseph Gostwick's and 
Robert Harrison's Nibelungenlied (see their Outhnes of 
German Literature, n. d., pp. 16-24) ; Hugh Reginald 
Haweis's Nibelungenlied (see his Musical Memories, 1887, 
pp. 225-250) ; Frederick Henry Hedge's Nibelungenlied 
(see his Hours with the German Classics, 1887, pp. 25-55) ^ 
James K. Hosmer's Nibelungen Lied (see his Short History 
of German Literature, 1891, pp. 23-77) ; J. P. Jackson's 
Ring of the Nibelung, Cosmopolitan, 1888, vol. vi. pp. 415- 
433 ; Henry W. Longfellow's Nibelungenlied (see his 
Poets and Poetry of Europe, new ed., enlarged, 1882, 
pp. 217-227) ; J-M. F. Ludlow's Lay and Lament of the 
Niblungs (see his Popular Epics of the Middle Ages, 1865, 
pp. 105-183) ; E. Magnusson and William Morris's Vol- 
sunga Saga, story of the Volsungs and Niblungs, 1870; Wil- 
ham Morris's Story of Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the 
Niblungs, 1887 ; F. Max Miiller's Das Nibelungenlied (see 
his German Classics, new ed., 1893, vol. i., pp. 112- 
136) ; Ernst Raupach's Nibelungen Treasure, a tragedy 
from the German with remarks, 1847 ; A. M. Richey's 
Teutonic and the Celtic Epic, Eraser's Magazine, 1874, vol. 
Ixxxix., pp. 336-354; Wilhelm Scherer's Nibelungenhed (see 



THE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 



171 



his History of German Literature, 1893, vol. i., pp. loi- 
115) ; Leda M. Schoonamaker's Nibelungen Lied, Harper's 
Magazine, 1877, vol. Iv., pp. 38-51 ; Bayard Taylor's Nibe- 
lungen Lied (see his Studies in German Literature, 1893, 
pp. 101-134) ; Wilhelm Wagner's Nibelungenlied (see his 
Epics and Romances of the Middle Ages, 1883, pp. 229- 
306) ; Henry Weber's The Song of the Nibelungen (see 
Weber and Jamieson, Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, 
1874, pp. 167-213). 

Standard English Translations, the Nibelungen. 
The Nibelungen Lied, Tr. by Alfred G. Foster Barham, 
1887 ; The Lay of the Nibelungers, Tr. into English text 
after Lachman's text by Jonathan Birch, ed. 3, 1887; The 
Nibelungenlied, Tr. by Joseph Gostwick (see his Spirit 
of German Poetry, 1843) j '^^^ ^^ of the Nibelungers, Tr. 
by William Nanson Lettsom, ed. 2, 1874. 



172 NATIONAL EPICS. 



THE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 

In the beautiful city of Worms, in Burgundy, dwelt the 
maiden Kriemhild, surpassing all others in beauty. Her 
father, long since dead, was Dancrat ; her mother, Uta, and 
her three brothers, — Giinther, Gemot, and Giselher, — puis- 
sant princes whose pride it was to guard their lovely sister. 
Among the noble lords their Hegemen were Hagan of Trony, 
Dankwart, his brother, Ortwine of Metz, Eckewart, Gary, 
Folker, Rumolt the steward, Sindolt the buder, and Humolt 
the chamberlain. 

The peace of the beautiful Kriemhild was one night dis- 
turbed by a dream, in which she saw a young falcon that she 
had long reared with tender care torn to pieces by two fierce 
eagles. When she confided this dream to her mother, the 
wise Uta declared that it meant that she would one day wed 
a fair prince threatened with a dreadful doom. 

" Then I will never wed ! " cried Kriemhild. " Better to 
forego the bliss thou tellest me attends only the wedded 
state than to taste the anguish foretold by my dream." 
Alas ! little could she guess of what the future held in store 
for her. 

In the wide country of the Netherlands, in the city of 
Xanten, dwelt the great prince Siegmund and his wife Sieg- 
lind. Their kingdom was wide, their wealth great, but noth- 
ing gave them so much happiness as the renown of their 
glorious son Siegfried. Such mighty deeds of valor had he 
performed that his fame was already world-wide, though he 
was but a youth. To Xanten the fame of the peerless 
princess Kriemhild had penetrated, and the young prince 
declared to his parents his intention of seeking her out in 
Burgundy, and wooing her for his wife. All entreaties were in 
vain ; with but twelve companions, each fitted out with the 
most gorgeous vestments, by the care of the queen mother, 
the haughty prince advanced into Burgundy. 



THE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 173 

King Giinther, surprised at the sight of the splendidly 
attired strangers, called one after another of his knights to 
inform him who they were. None knew, until Hagan was 
at last called because he was familiar with the warriors of 
every .land. He did not know them. "But," said he, 
" though I have never set eyes on him, I '11 wager that is the 
noble Siegfried, the mighty warrior who slew the Nibelungers. 
Once, so I have heard the story, when he was riding alone, 
he saw the two kings Nibelung and Shilbung dividing the 
treasure of the Niblungs. They had just brought it out from 
the cavern where it was guarded by the dwarf Albric, and 
they called Siegfried to come and divide it for them. The 
task was so great that he did not finish it, and when the 
angry kings set upon him he slew them both, their giant 
champions and chiefs, and then overcame the dwarf Albric, 
and possessed himself of his wondrous cloud-cloak. So he 
is now lord of the Nibelungers and owner of the mighty 
treasure. Not only this, my king ; he once slew a poison- 
spitting dragon and bathed in its blood, so that his skin is 
invulnerable. Treat the young prince with respect. It 
would be ill-advised to arouse his hatred." 

While the king and his counsellors were admiring his 
haughty bearing, Siegfried and his followers advanced to the 
hall and were fittingly welcomed. Siegfried haughtily de- 
clared that he had come to learn if Giinther's renown for 
knighthood was correct, and wished to fight with him, with 
their respective kingdoms as stakes. Giinther had no desire 
to fight with such a doughty warrior, and he hastened to 
soothe Siegfried's wrath with gentle words, inviting him to 
remain as his guest. 

So happy was Siegfried in the tourneys and games enjoyed 
by Giinther's court, that he remained in Worms for a year, 
and in all that time never set eyes on Kriemhild. How en- 
raptured would he have been had he known that the gentle 
maiden watched for him daily at her lattice, and came to 
long for a glimpse of the handsome stranger ! 

At the end of the year tidings were brought to Worms that 
the Saxons, led by King Liideger, and Liidegast, king of Den- 



174 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



mark, were marching against Burgundy. The Burgundians 
were terrified at the news ; but Siegfried, delighted at the 
thought of war, begged Giinther to give him but a thousand 
Burgundians, in addition to the twelve comrades he had 
brought with him, and he would pledge himself to defeat, 
unaided, the presumptuous enemy. Many were the camps 
of the foe ; full forty thousand were there mustered out to 
fight, but Siegfried quickly scattered them, slew many thou- 
sands, and took the two kings prisoners. 

How joyful the melancholy Kriemhild became when the 
messenger bore to her the glad tidings ! Ruddy gold and 
costly garments he gained for his good news. 

On Siegfried's return he first met and loved Kriemhild. 
More blooming than May, sweeter than summer's pride, she 
stood by the gallant warrior, who dared not yet to woo her. 
The twelve days of revel in celebration of the victory were 
one long dream of bliss to the happy lovers. 

While Siegfried was still lingering at Gtinther's court, tid- 
ings were brought thither of the beauty, prowess, and great 
strength of Brunhild, Queen of Issland, and Giinther deter- 
mined to go thither and woo her. Siegfried implored him 
not to go. 

" Thou knowest not what thou must undertake," he said. 
" Thou must take part in her contests, throw the javelin, 
throw the stone and jump after it, and if thou fail in even 
one of these three games thou must lose thy life and that of 
thy companions," 

When Siegfried found that he could not move Giinther, 
he promised to go with him and assist him, on condition 
that on their return Giinther would give him the beautiful 
Kriemhild for his wife. 

Attired in the most splendid raiment, prepared by the will- 
ing fingers of Kriemhild and her maids, Giinther, with only 
three companions, Siegfried, Hagan, and Dankwart, set 
forth to Issland. Siegfried requested his companions to in- 
form Brunhild that he was Giinther's man ; and when she 
welcomed him first, he himself told her to speak first to his 
master. 



THE STORY OF THE NIB E LUNG EN LIED. 



175 



The little party was greatly impressed with the splendor 
of Brunhild's three turreted palaces, and with the beauty 
and prodigious strength of the queen. When they saw her 
huge golden shield, steel-studded, beneath whose weight 
four chamberlains staggered, and the immense javelin of the 
war-like maid, the warriors trembled for their lives, all save 
Siegfried, who, wrapped in his cloud-cloak, invisible to all, 
stood behind the bewildered Giinther. 

" Give me thy buckler," he whispered. "Now make but 
the motions, and I will hurl both spear and stone. But 
keep this a secret if thou wouldst save both our lives." 

To the surprise of every one Giinther won the games, 
and Brunhild, surprised and mortified, ordered her followers 
to bow to her better, and returned to the castle to make 
ready for the journey to Worms. 

Siegfried carried the tidings to Worms, and the bridal 
party was met and welcomed at the banks of the Rhine by 
the Queen Uta, Kriemhild, and a large following. During 
the wedding feast, Siegfried reminded Giinther of his prom- 
ise, and the king, calling Kriemhild to him, affianced the 
two in the presence of the company. 

When the suspicious Brunhild saw Siegfried sitting at the 
table of the king, she was angered, for she had been told 
that he was a vassal. Although she could get no satisfac- 
tion from Giinther, she suspected some secret. When she 
and Giinther retired for the night she conquered him, tied 
him hand and foot with her magic girdle, and hung him on 
the wall until morning. Giinther, overcome with wrath and 
vexation, told his humiliation to Siegfried the next morn- 
ing at the minster. " Be comforted," said Siegfried. " To- 
night I will steal into thy chamber wrapped in my mist- 
cloak, and when the lights are extinguished I will wrestle 
with her until I deprive her of the magic ring and girdle." 

After some hesitation, Giinther assented, and Brunhild, 
supposing she was conquered by Giinther, yielded herself 
willingly to her husband and lost all her former strength. 
Siegfried carried away her girdle and ring and gave them to 
his wife, little suspecting what harm they would do him in 
the years to come. 



176 NATIONAL EPICS. 

The wedding festivities over, Siegfried took his bride 
home to the Netherlands, where their arrival was celebrated 
with the greatest festivities. Siegmund placed the crown on 
his son's head, and Siegfried and Kriemhild ruled happily 
over the kingdom for ten years, during which time a son 
was born to them, christened Giinther for his uncle. 

During these years Brunhild had been fretting that the 
supposed vassal, Siegfried, had never come to pay homage 
to his king. At last, affecting a great longing to see Kriem- 
hild once more, she induced Giinther to invite his sister and 
her husband to visit them. This he did gladly, and on their 
arrival many days were spent in feasting, merrymaking, and 
the tourney. 

But one day, when the two queens were watching the tilt- 
ing in the castle court, Kriemhild, excited by the victories 
of her husband, declared that Siegfried, because of his 
might, ought to be ruler of Burgundy. This angered 
Brunhild, who reproached the wife of a vassal for such 
presumption. 

" My husband a vassal ! " exclaimed the indignant Kriem- 
hild. " He, ruler of the Netherlands, who holds a higher 
place than my brother Giinther ! I cannot endure thy inso- 
lence longer." 

" I will see," said Brunhild, " this very day whether thou 
receivest the public respect and honor paid to me." 

" I am ready for the test," responded Kriemhild, " and I 
will show thee to-day, before our following, that I dare to 
enter the church before Giinther's queen." 

When the two queens met on the minster steps, and 
Brunhild declared that no vassaless should enter before her, 
Kriemhild reproached her for being the leman of Siegfried, 
and displayed in proof the ring and girdle he had taken 
from Brunhild. Rage and fury rendered Brunhild speech- 
less. The kings were summoned, and both denied the 
truth of Kriemhild's words. But the two queens were now 
bitter enemies, and the followers of Brunhild, among them 
the gloomy Hagan of Trony, were deeply angered at Sieg- 
fried and his queen. Hagan laid a plot to destroy Siegfried, 



THE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 177 

and Giinther, though at first unwilling, was at last induced 
to enter it. 

Pretended messengers came to announce to Giinther that 
the Saxons again threatened war against him. Siegfried 
proposed to take part in the war, and preparations were 
at once begun. Hagan, with pretended tenderness, told 
Kriemhild of the coming danger, and asked her if her lord 
had a weak place, that he might know and guard it for him. 
Kriemhild confided to him her husband's secret. When 
Siegfried was bathing in the dragon's blood, a leaf fell be- 
tween his shoulders, and that spot was vulnerable. There 
she would embroider a cross on his vesture that Hagan 
might protect him in the shock of battle. 

The war was now abandoned and a great hunt under- 
taken. Gemot and Giselher, though they did not see fit to 
warn Siegfried,, refused to take part in the plot and go to 
the hunt. Many a lion, elk, and boar fell by Siegfried's 
hand that day before the hunters were called together to 
the royal breakfast ; when they at last sat down in the flowery 
meadow the wine was wanting, and the warriors were com- 
pelled to quench their thirst at a brooklet near by. 

" A race ! " cried the hero ; and he, Hagan, and Giinther 
ran for the brook, Siegfried gaining it first. After the king 
had quenched his thirst, Siegfried threw down his arms and 
stooped to drink. Then Hagan, picking up his ashen spear, 
threw it at the embroidered cross, and Siegfried fell in the 
agonies of death, reproaching his traitorous friends whom 
he had served so faithfully. 

To add cruelty to cruelty, the vindictive Hagan placed 
the body of Siegfried outside Kriemhild's chamber door, 
where she would stumble over it as she went out to early 
mass next morning. Down she fell fainting when she rec- 
ognized her husband, and reviving, shrieked in her anguish, 
"Brunhild planned it; Hagan struck the blow! " 

Her grief was terrible to see. One moment the unhappy 
queen was accusing herself for revealing her husband's 
secret ; again she was vowing revenge against Hagan, and at 
another time she reviled the traitorous Giinther. 



1 78 NATIONAL EPICS. 

When her father-in-law Siegmund returned home, she 
would not go with him, but remained near the body of her 
husband, under the protection of her brothers Gemot and 
Giselher and in the company of her mother. 

Kriemhild, living in joyless state in her lonely palace, was 
at last induced to speak to Giinther and pardon him. The 
pardon granted, Giinther and Hagan at once plotted to have 
the Nibelungen hoard, Siegfried's morning-gift to Kriem- 
hild, brought to Worms. Never before was such a treasure 
seen. Twelve huge wagons, journeying thrice a day, re- 
quired four nights and days to carry it from the mountain to 
the bay. It consisted of nothing but precious stones and 
gold, and with it was the magic wishing-rod. It filled 
Kriemhild's towers and chambers to overflowing, and won 
many friends for the queen, who distributed it liberally. 

When the envious Hagan could not induce Giinther to 
take the treasure from Kriemhild, he selected a time when 
the king and his brothers were away from home, and seizing 
the treasure, cast it into the Rhine, hoping to get it again. 
In this he failed, so the great treasure was forever lost. 

Thus ends the first part of the Lay of the Nibelungen. 
The second part is sometimes called the Need or Fall of the 
Nibelungen. 

While Kriemhild was bewailing her loss and revolving 
plans for revenge, Etzel, King of the Huns, who had heard 
of the charms of Siegfried's widow, sent the noble Margrave 
Riideger into Burgundy with proposals for her hand. 

Gunther and his brothers begged Kriemhild to accept the 
offer ; their counsellors advised it ; only the sage Hagan pro- 
tested. He knew too well how Kriemhild longed for re- 
venge. " When once she gets among the Huns, she will 
make us rue the day," said he. 

But the others laughed at Hagan's scruples. The land of 
the Huns was far away, and they need never set foot in it. 
Moreover, it was their duty to make Kriemhild happy. 

Moved by the eloquence of Riideger, Kriemhild consented 
to wed Etzel, and set out in great state to meet the king. 

She was splendidly entertained along the way, tarried a 



THE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 179 

short time at the home of the Margrave Riideger, and at 
Tulna met the great monarch Etzel, riding to meet her, 
among his hosts of Russians, Polacks, Greeks, and Wal- 
lachians. 

The splendid wedding-feast was held at Vienna. Kriem- 
hild was received with the greatest honor, and so lavish was 
she of the gold and jewels she had brought with her, and 
so gracious to the attendant Huns, that every one loved her, 
and wilHngly worked her will. 

For seven long years she and Attila lived happy together, 
and to them was given a son whom they christened Ordieb. 
Then Kriemhild, still remembering her loss and the cruelties 
of her Burgundian relatives and friends, bethought herself of 
her revenge. 

Feigning a great desire to see her brothers, she entreated 
Etzel to invite them to visit her; and the king, not suspecting 
her fell purpose, and glad of an opportunity to welcome her 
friends, at once despatched messengers with the invitation. 

This time other counsellors besides Hagan mistrusted the 
queen, and advised King Giinther and his brothers to dechne 
the invitation. But the princes grew angry at their advice ; 
and Hagan, who could not endure to be laughed at, set forth 
with them, accompanied with a great train of warriors. 

The Rhine was too swollen to ford, and Hagan was sent 
up the stream to find a ferryman. As he looked for the 
boatman, he spied some mermaids bathing, and seizing their 
garments, would not restore them until they told him what 
would befall the Burgundians in Hungary. 

'' Safe will you ride to Etzel's court, and safe return," 
said one, as he returned the garments. But as he turned to 
go, another called: "My aunt has lied to thee that she 
might get back her raiment. Turn now, or you will never 
live to see Burgundy. None save the chaplain will return 
in safety." 

Hagan went on gloomily and found the ferryman, who, 
proud and sullen, refused to take the party across. Hagan 
slew him, and, returning with the boat, threw the unfortunate 
chaplain into the river, thinking by drowning him to prove 



i8o NATIONAL EPICS. 

the mermaid's prophecy untrue. But the chaplain escaped 
to the other side, and walked back to Burgundy. Then 
Hagan told the party of the prophecy and they resolved to 
go on together, though they realized that they were going 
to their doom. 

Because of the slaughter of the ferryman, they were at- 
tacked by Gelfrat, the ruler of the land ; but he was overcome 
and slain by Dankwart. 

The Margrave Rlideger received the travellers hospitably, 
and betrothed his fair daughter to Giselher. He then ac- 
companied the Burgundians to Etzel's court. 

The Burgundians suspected Kriemhild from the first. 
Giselher was the only one of her brothers whom she kissed, 
and she and Hagan quarrelled over the treasure at their first 
meeting. 

They were warned by Eckewart, who had accompanied 
Kriemhild from Burgundy, and by Dietrich of Bern, an exile 
at the court of Etzel, who told them that every morning since 
her stay in Hunland she had moaned and wailed for Siegfried. 
By Hagan's advice they all kept on their armor, telling Etzel 
that it was the custom in their country to wear it for the first 
three days. 

Kriemhild's design was to destroy Hagan and spare her 
brothers. But Hagan, on his guard, drove her warriors 
away from his room at night, and saved himself at church 
from the jostling Hunnish lords, never, in the mean time, 
sparing his insults to Kriemhild. 

The Huns, who were devoted to their queen, were not 
slow in showing their anger at Hagan's treatment of her, 
and the ill feeling between the warriors increased as the 
days passed by. 

As the Burgundians sat at the banquet with Etzel and his 
wife, in burst Dankwart, exclaiming that he had been at- 
tacked by Bloeotel, who had slain all his followers. 

" Be stirring, brother Hagan ! " he cried. " Help me to 
avenge my wrongs ! " 

At this moment the little prince Ortlieb had been brought 
into the hall and passed around among the guests. 



THE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 



i8l 



" Let us drink to friendship with moody Kriemhild in 
king's wine ! " cried Hagan, and with one blow of the sword 
sent the child's head in his mother's lap. Then arose a 
fearful clamor. Spear rang against shield, and the cries of 
the fierce Huns mingled with the defiant shouts of the 
Burgundians. 

.Dietrich of Bern, leaping upon a bench, asked King 
Giinther, that, as a friend to both parties, he might be per- 
mitted to withdraw from the hall with his friends. When 
the Burgundians assented, he led forth the king and queen. 
The same privilege was accorded to Riideger. 

Then, while the terrible Folker guarded the door with his 
fiddle bow, one side of which was a trenchant sword, the 
battle began. The Burgundians taunted the Huns with 
their weakness and cowardice until they ventured into the 
hall and were cut down by Hagan and his desperate men. 
When evening fell the thousand and four who had entered 
the hall all lay dead by the hands of the Burgundians. 

When Kriemhild's offer to give her brothers their lives if 
they would surrender Hagan was refused, she ordered fire to 
be set to the four corners of the hall, thinking thus to drive 
them forth. But the burning rafters fell into the rivers of 
blood and were quenched, and the Burgundians derived 
new courage and strength from huge draughts of blood from 
their fallen foes. 

Then Kriemhild and Etzel, seeing how their Hunnish 
men had fallen, and perceiving that the Burgundians were 
in no wise injured by the fire, reproached the Margrave 
Riideger that he did not enter the fight. In vain he told 
them of his friendship with the princes ; of the betrothal 
of his daughter and Giselher. Kriemhild persisted in re- 
minding him of the promise he had made to serve her to 
her dying day. At last he reluctantly summoned his men, 
and bidding farewell to his cruel king and queen, he en- 
tered the hall. Gladly was he welcomed by the Burgun- 
dians, who could not believe that he came to do battle with 
them. He explained how he was forced to fight them, and 
amid the tears of both sides, he exchanged shields with 



1 82 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Hagan, whose buckler was broken. Then was the grim 
Hagan moved to tears, and he vowed not to touch Riideger 
in the fight. Fearful was the clatter of shield and blade as 
Riideger fought with Gemot, and fell at last by the blade he 
had himself given the prince. 

Great was the wailing of the Huns when they saw the 
lifeless body of Riideger, and deeply did Etzel regret the 
loss of the valiant and true margrave. 

Dietrich of Bern, who sat afar off, sent some of his best 
warriors under his man Hildebrand, to inquire of the 
truth of the report of Riideger's death. These fiery men dis- 
obeyed the orders of their master, and fought with the Bur- 
gundians until none remained save Giinther and Hagan on 
one side, and Hildebrand on the other. 

When Dietrich heard of the slaughter of his followers, he 
was overcome with sorrow, and himself sought the hall. He 
promised Giinther and Hagan that if they would surrender, 
he would himself lead them back in safety to Burgundy ; 
but to this they would not consent. By this time they were 
so worn out, however, from the long batde, that Dietrich 
easily overpowered them and led them captive before Kriem- 
hild, who promised to show them fair treatment. 

But Kriemhild's mind had become so warped by her de- 
sire for revenge, that she could not think of mercy. She 
cast her prisoners into separate dungeons, and visiting Hagan 
first, demanded her treasure. " But give it to me again, 
and thou shalt return living into Burgundy." 

" Pray not to me, haughty queen," replied Hagan. " I 
swore that while my lords were living I would ne'er tell 
where it lies. Thy prayer is thrown away." 

Straightway the savage Kriemhild ordered the head of 
Giinther to be struck off, and bearing it by the hair, she 
displayed it to Hagan, asking him now to tell her the 
secret. 

" Now that all my lords are dead," said he, " no one shall 
know, thou least of all, she-fiend ! " 

Kriemhild, beside herself with grief and rage, snatched 
from him the sword Balmung that he had taken from Sieg- 



THE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 183 

fried, and ever since carried, and raising it high with both 
hands, struck off the head of her hated enemy. 

At this the grief of Etzel broke forth, and the aged Hilde- 
brand, enraged to see a woman do such deeds, sprang upon 
Kriemhild and smote her to death with his sword. 

Bitterly wept King Etzel and Dietrich as they gazed on 
the corpses scattered round, and the disfigured body of the 
fair queen. Nothing remained for the Hunnish people but 
grief and woe. 

Here on earth pain ever follows in the steps of pleasure. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 

How Brunhild was received at Worms. 

Brunhild, queen of Issland, was won by Giinther of Worms 
with the aid of Siegfried, whom Giinther sent forward to Worms 
to announce the coming of the royal pair. Queen Uta and 
Princess Kriemhild, with many followers from the Burgundian 
court, went forward to the Rhine to meet and welcome the royal 
bridal party. 

Beyond the Rhine King Giinther, with many a well-arm'd rank 
And all his guests about him, rode towards the river's bank; 
You might see by the bridle led forward many a maid. 
Those, who were to receive them, were ready all array' d. 

Soon as the men of Issland came to the shallops down, 
And eke the Nibelimgers, lieges of Siegfried's crown, 
To th' other shore they hasten'd (busy was every hand) 
Where them the friends of Giinther awaited on the strand. 

Now hear, by wealthy Uta what a device was wrought. 
Down with her from the castle a virgin train she brought, 
That rode where she was riding in that procession bright ; 
So many a maid acquainted became with many a knight. 

Kriemhild by the bridle the Margrave Gary led, 
But only from the castle ; then forward Siegfried sped. 
And did that gentle service; fair was the blushing maid ; 
Full well for that thereafter the warrior she repaid. 



1 84 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Ortwine, the fearless champion, rode by Dame Uta's rein ; 
Knights and maids together foUow'd, a social train. 
At such a stately meeting, all must confess, I ween, 
So many lovely ladies were ne'er together seen. 

Full many a famous champion careering you might spy 
(111 there was sloth and idlesse) beneath fair Kriemhild's eye 
E'en to the place of landing ; by knights of fair renown 
There many a high-born lady from steed was lifted down. 

The king was now come over, and many a worthy guest. 
Ah, before the ladies what spears were laid in rest ! 
How many went in shivers at every hurtling close ! 
Buckler clashed with buckler; ah, what a din arose ! 

Now might you see the ladies fast by the haven stand. 
With his guests King Giinther debark' d upon the strand, 
In his hand soft leading the martial maiden fair. 
Then each on each fiash'd radiance, rich robes and jewels rare. 

With that the smiling Kriemhild forth stepp'd a little space, 
And Brunhild and her meiny greeted with gentle grace, 
Each with snowy fingers back her headband drew. 
And either kiss'd the other lovingly and true. 

Then spoke in courteous manner Kriemhild the fair and free, 

" In this our land, dear Brunhild, ever welcome be 

To me and to my mother and all by us allow'd 

For faithful friends and liegemen." Then each to th' other bow'd. 

Next to greet Dame Brunhild approach'd Dame Uta too ; 
Oft she and oft her daughter their arms about her threw, 
And on her sweet mouth lavish'd many a loving kiss. 
Never was known a welcome so kind and frank as this. 

Soon as Brunhild's women were all come to the strand. 
Many a courtly warrior took iDy her lily hand 
A lady fair, and gently her mincing steps upstay'd. 
Now before Dame Brunhild stood many a noble maid. 

'Twas long before the greeting had gone through all the list. 
On either part in plenty rosy mouths were kiss'd. 
Still the two fair princesses were standing side by side, 
A pair with love and rapture by longing warriors ey'd. 

What erst had been but rumour, was now made clear to sight, 
That nought had yet been witness'd so beautiful and bright 
As those two lovely damsels ; 't was plain to every eye ; 
None the slightest blemish in either form could spy. 



i8s 



THE STORY OF THE NIB E LUNGE N LIED. 

Whoever look'd on women with but the sight for guide, 
Such for her faultless beauty praised GUnther's stately bride ; 
But those whose thoughts went deeper, and div'd into the mind, 
Maintain'd that gentle Kriemhild left Brunhild far behind. 

Now met the dames and damsels in friendly converse free ; 
Fair robes and fairer beauties were there in store to see; 
Many a silk pavilion and many a gorgeous tent 
The plain before the city fill'd in its whole extent. 

King GUnther's kinsmen ceas'd not to press to that fair show. 
And now was begg'd each princess from the sun to go 
Close by, with their attendants, where shade was overhead. 
By bold Burgundian warriors thither were they led. 

Then clomb to horse the heroes, and scour'd the sounding field; 
Many a joust was practis'd with order'd spear and shield ; 
Right well were prov'd the champions, and o'er the trampled plain, 
As though the land were burning, the dust curl'd up amain. 

So all before the ladies display' d their skill and force. 
Nor doubt I that Sir Siegfried rode many a knightly course 
Before the rich pavilions, and ever as he sped. 
His thousand Nibelungers, a stately squadron, led. 

Then came the knight of Trony by the good king's command; 
In friendly wise he parted the jousters on the strand, 
For fear the dust, now thick'ning, the ladies might molest. 
Him with ready reverence obey'd each gentle guest. 

Then spake the noble Gemot, " Let each now rest his steed 
Till the air be cooler, 't will then be ours to lead 
These lovely ladies homeward e'en to the palace wide. 
So keep yourselves all ready till it please the king to ride." 

Thus ended was the tourney, and now the warriors went 
To join the dames and damsels beneath each lofty tent, 
And there in gentle converse their grace and favor sought ; 
So flew the hours in pastime till of riding home they thought. 

Now as drew on the twilight, when cooler grew the air 
And the sun was setting, they would not linger there, 
But up rose lords and ladies to seek the castle high ; 
Many a fair dame was cherish'd by many a love-lit eye. 

So on the fair they waited as from good knights is due. 
. Then hardy squires, hot spurring before the nobles' view, 
After the country's custom rode for the prize of weed 
As far as to the palace, where sprung the king from steed. 



1 86 NATIONAL EPICS. 

There too the proud queens parted, each taking thence her way. 

Dame Uta and her daughter with their handmaids gay 

Into a spacious chamber both together went. 

There might you see on all sides the sound of merriment. 

In hall the seats were order'd; the king would instant hie 
With all his guests to table ; beside him you might spy 
His lovely bride, Queen Brunhild ; her royal crown she wore 
There in King Giinther's country ; so rich was none before. 

Seats were there plac'd unnumber'd with tables broad and good, 
As is to us reported, full heap'd with costly food. 
How little there was wanted that passes for the best ! 
There with the king was seated full many a noble guest. 

The chamberlains of Giinther in ewers of ruddy gold 
Brought to the guests the water ; should you be ever told 
That at a prince's table service was better done, 
'T were labor lost to say so, 't would be believ'd by none. 

Then, ere the lord of Rhineland touch'd the water bright, 
Up to him, as befitted, went Siegfried the good knight. 
And brought to his remembrance the promise made him there, 
Ere yet afar in Issland he look'd on Brunhild fair. 

Said he, " You must remember what swore to me your hand, 
That soon as Lady Brunhild were come into this land, 
To me you "d give your sister, your oaths now where are they ? 
On me throughout your journey much toil and travail lay." 

" Well did you to remind me," the noble king replied, 
" By what my hand has promis'd, I ever will abide, 
And in this thing to serve you will do my best, my all." 
Then sent he to beg Kriemhild to come into the hall. 

Straight to the hall came Kriemhild begirt with many a maid. 
When from the lofty staircase young Gisellier thus said, 
" Send back your maidens, Kriemhild, this bus'ness is your own ; 
On this the king, our brother, would speak with you alone." 

Then forward led was Kriemhild, as Gunther gave command, 
Where stood the king, and round him from many a prince's land 
Were noble knights unnumber'd ; at once all silence kept ; 
At that same instant Brunhild had just to table stepp'd. 

Thence came it she knew nothing of what was to be done. 

Then to his gather'd kinsmen spoke Dancrat's royal son, 

" Help me to move my sister Siegfried for lord to take." 

" Such match," they all made answer, "with honour she may make. 



THE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 187 

Then spoke the king to Kriemhild, " Sister. I ask of thee 
From an oath to set me by thy kindness free. 
Thee to a knight I promis'd ; if thou become his bride, 
Thou 'It do the will of Giinther, and show thy love beside." 

Then spake the noble maiden, " Dearest brother mine, 

It needed not to ask me ; whate'er command be thine, 

I '11 willingly perform it ; so now, for thy sake, 

Whom thou for husband giv'st me, fain I, my lord, will take." 

With love and eke with pleasure redden'd Siegfried's hue ; 
At once to Lady Kriemhild he pledg'd his service true. 
They bade them stand together in the courtly circle bright, 
And ask'd her if for husband she took that lofty knight. 

In modest maiden fashion she blush'd a little space, 

But such was Siegfried's fortune and his earnest grace, 

That not altogether could she deny her hand. 

Then her for wife acknowledg'd the noble king of Netherland. 

He thus to her affianc'd, and to him the maid, 
Straight round the long-sought damsel in blushing grace array'd 
His arms with soft emotion th' enamour'd warrior threw, 
And kiss'd the high-born princess before that glitt'ring crew. 

Lettso7n^s Translation, Tenth Adventure. 



How Margrave Rudeger was Slain. 

The Margrave Rudeger did not take part in the battle fought 
in Etzel's hall between the Burgundians visiting the Hunnish 
court and the Huns, because of his friendship for the Burgun- 
dians, and the betrothal of his daughter to Prince Giselher. Be- 
cause of this, he was taunted by a Hun, who said to the queen 
that although Rudeger had accepted many favors from Etzel he 
did not fight for him. When the Hun fell dead under Riide- 
ger's blow, Etzel reproached him for slaying one of his followers 
when he had need of so many. 

Then came the fair Queen Kriemhild ; she too had seen full well 
What from the hero's an'2;er the luckless Hun befell ; 
And she too raourn'd it deeply ; with tears her eyes were wet. 
Thus spake she to Riideger, " How have we ever yet 

" Deserv'd that you, good Riideger, should make our anguish more? 

Now sure to me and Etzel you 've promised o'er and o'er. 

That you both life and honour would risk to do us right. 

That you 're the flower of knighthood is own'd by every knight. 



1 88 NATIONAL EPICS. 

"Now think upon the homage that once to me you swore, 
When to the Rhine, good warrior, King Etzel's suit you bore, 
That you would serve me ever to either's dying day. 
Ne'er can I need so deeply, that you that vow should pay." 

" 'T is true, right noble lady; in this we 're not at strife; 
I pledg'd, to do you service, my honour and my life, 
But my soul to hazard never did I vow. 
I brought the princes hither, and must not harm them now." 



With that, to beg and pray him the king began as well; 
King and queen together both at his feet they fell. 
Then might you the good margrave have seen full ill bestead. 
And thus in bitterest anguish the faithful hero said : — 

" Woe 's me the heaven -abandon' d, that I have liv'd to this ! 
Farewell to all my honours ! woe for my first amiss ! 
My truth — my God-giv'n innocence — must they be both forgot ? 
Woe 's me, O God in heaven ! that death reheves me not ! " 

Then thus bespake him Kriemhild, '' Right noble Riideger, 
Take pity on our anguish; thou see'st us kneeling here, 
The king and me before thee; both clasp thy honour'd knees. 
Sure never host yet feasted such fatal guests as these." 

With that the noble margrave thus to the queen 'gan say, 
" Sure must the life of Riideger for all the kindness pay, 
That you to me, my lady, and my lord the king have done. 
For this I 'm doomed to perish, and that ere set of sun. 

" Full well I know, this morning my castles and my land 
Both will to you fall vacant by stroke of foeman's hand. 
And so my wife and daughter I to your grace commend, 
And all at Bechelaren, each trusty homeless friend." 



So to war the margrave under helmet strode ; 
Sharpest swords his meiny brandished as they rode ; 
Each in hand, bright-flashing, held his shield before. 
That saw the dauntless minstrel, and seeing sorrow'd sore. 

Then too was by young Giselher his lady's father seen 
With helm laced as for battle. " What," thought he, " can he mean ? 
But nought can mean the margrave but what is just and right." 
At the thought full joyous wax'd the youthful knight. 

" I know not what you trust in ; " thus the stern minstrel spake; 
" Where saw you warriors ever for reconcilement's sake 
With helmets laced advancing, and naked swords in hand? 
On us will earn Sir Riideger his castles and his land." 



THE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 189 

Scarcely the valiant minstrel his words had utter'd all, 
When the noble Riideger was close before the hall. 
His shield, well proved in battle, before his feet he laid, 
But neither proffered service, nor friendly greeting made. 

To those within he shouted, " Look not for succor hence; 
Ye valiant Nibelungers, now stand on your defence. 
I 'd fain have been your comrade ; your foe I now must be. 
We once were friends together ; now from that bond I 'm free." 

" Now God forbid," said Giinther, " that such a knight as you 
To the faith wherein we trusted, should ever prove untrue, 
And turn upon his comrades in such an hour as this. 
Ne'er can 1 think that Riideger can do so much amiss." 

" I can't go back," said Riideger, " the deadly die is cast ; 
I must with you do battle ; to that my word is pass'd. 
So each of you defend him as he loves his life. 
I must perform my promise; so wills King Etzel's wife." 



" Tarry yet a little, right noble Riideger ! 
I and my lords a moment would yet with you confer; 
Thereto hard need compels us, and danger gathering nigh ; 
What boot were it to Etzel though here forlorn we die ? 

" I 'm now," pursued Sir Hagan, " beset with grievous care ; 
The shield that Lady Gotelind gave me late to bear, 
Is hewn, and all-to broken by many a Hunnish brand. 
I brought it fair and friendly hither to Etzel's land. 

" Ah ! that to me this favour heaven would be pleas'd to yield, 
That I might to defend me bear so well-prov'd a shield 
As that, right noble Riideger, before thee now display'd ! 
No more should I in battle need then the hauberk's aid." 

" Fain with the same I 'd serve thee to th' height of thy desire, 
But that I fear such proffer might waken Kriemhild's ire. 
Still, take it to thee, Hagan, and wield it well in hand. 
Ah ! might'st thou bring it with thee to thy Burgundian land ! " 

While thus with words so courteous so fair a gift he sped, 
The eyes of many a champion with scalding tears were red. 
'T was the last gift, that buckler, e'er given to comrade dear 
By the lord of Bechelaren, the blameless Riideger. 

However stern was Hagan, and of unyielding mood, 
Still at the gift he melted, which one so great and good 
Gave in his last few moments, e'en on the eve of fight. 
And with the stubborn warrior mourn'd many a noble knight. 



190 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

" Now God in heaven, good Riideger, thy recompenser be ! 
Your Hke on earth, I 'm certain, we never more shall see, 
Who gifts so good and gorgeous to homeless w^anderers give. 
May God protect your virtue, that it may ever live ! 

" Alas ! this bloody bus'ness ! " Sir Hagan then went on, 
" We have had to bear much sorrow, and more shall have anon. 
Must friend with friend do battle, nor heaven the conflict part? '' 
The noble margrave answer'd, " That wounds my inmost heart." 

" Now for thy gift I '11 quit thee, right noble Riideger ! 

What e'er may chance between thee and my bold comrades here, 

My hand shall touch thee never amidst the heady fight. 

Not e'en if thou shouldst slaughter every Burgundian knight." 

For that to him bow'd courteous the blameless Riideger. 
Then all around were weeping for grief and doleful drear, 
Since none th' approaching mischief had hope to turn aside. 
The father of all virtue in that good margrave died. 



What a fearful clatter of clashing blades there rang ! 
From shields beneath the buffets how the plates they sprang, 
And precious stones unnumber'd rain'd down into the gore ! 
They fought so fell and furious as man will never more. 

The lord of Bechelaren went slashing here and there, 
As one who well in battle knew how himself to bear. 
Well prov'd the noble Riideger in that day's bloody fight, 
That never handled weapon a more redoubted knight. 



Loud o'er the din of battle stout Gemot shouted then, 
" How now, right noble Riideger ? not one of all my men 
Thou 'It leave me here unwounded ; in sooth it grieves me sore 
To see my friends thus slaughter'd ; bear it can I no more. 

" Now must thy gift too surely the giver barm to-day. 
Since of my friends so many thy strength has swept away. 
So turn about and face me, thou bold and high-born man ! 
Thy goodly gift to merit, I'll do the best I can." 

Ere through the press the margrave could come Sir Gemot nigh. 
Full many a glittering mail-coat was stain"d a bloody die. 
Then those fame-greedy champions each fierce on th' other leapt, 
And deadly wounds at distance with wary ward they kept. 

So sharp were both thejr broadswords, resistless was their dint, 
Sudden the good Sir Riideger through th' helmet hard as flint 
So struck the noble Gemot, that forth the blood it broke; 
With death the stern Burgundian repaid the deadly stroke. 



THE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED. 



191 



He heaved the gift of Riideger with both his hands on high, 

And to the death though wounded, a stroke at him let fly 

Right through both shield and morion ; deep was the gash and wide. 

At once the lord of Gotelind beneath the swordcut died. 

In sooth a gift so goodly was worse requited ne'er. 
Down dead dropp'd both together, Gemot and Riideger. 
Each slain by th' other's manhood, then prov'd, alas ! too well. 
Thereat first Sir Hagan furious wax'd and fell. 

Then cried the knight of Trony, " Sure we with ills are cross'd ; 
Their country and their people in both these chiefs have lost 
More than they '11 e'er recover ; — woe worth this fatal day ! 
We have here the margrave's meiny, and they for all shall pay! " 

All struck at one another, none would a foeman spare. 

Full many a one, unwounded, down was smitten there, 

Who else might have 'scap'd harmless, but now, though whole and sound, 

In the thick press was trampled, or in the blood was drown'd. 

" Alas ! my luckless brother who here in death lies low ! 
How every hour I 'm living brings some fresh tale of woe ! 
And ever must I sorrow for the good margrave too. 
On both sides dire destruction and mortal ills we rue." 

Soon as the youthful Giselher beheld his brother dead, 
Who yet within were lingering by sudden doom were sped. 
Death, his pale meiny choosing, dealt each his dreary dole. 
Of those of Bechelaren 'scaped not one living soul. 

King Giinther and young Giselher, and fearless Hagan too, 
Dankwart as well as Folker, the noble knights and true, 
Went where they found together out-stretched the valiant twain. 
There wept th' assembled warriors in anguish o'er the slain. 

" Death fearfully despoils us," said youthful Giselher, 
" But now give over wailing, and haste to th' open air 
To cool our heated hauberks, faint as we are with strife. 
God, methinks, no longer, will here vouchsafe us life." 

This sitting, that reclining, was seen full many a knight ; 
They took repose in quiet ; around (a fearful sight ! ) 
Lay Riideger" s dead comrades ; all was hush'd and still ; 
From that long dreary silence King Etzel augur' d ill. 

" Alas for this half friendship ! " thus Kriemhild frowning spake, 
*' If it were true and steadfast. Sir Riideger would take 
Vengeance wide and sweeping on yonder murderous band ; 
Now back he'll bring them safely to their Burgundian land. 



192 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

" What boot our gifts, King Etzel ? was it, my lord, for this 
We gave him all he asked us ? The chief has done amiss. 
He, who should have reveng'd us, will now a treaty make." 
Thereto in answer Folker, the gallant minstrel, spake, 

" Not so the truth is, lady ! the more the pity too ! 

If one the lie might venture to give a dame like you, 

Most foully against the margrave you 've lied, right noble queen! 

Sore trick' d in that same treaty he and his men have been. 

" With such goodwill the margrave his king's commands obey'd, 
That he and all his meiny dead on this floor are laid. 
Now look about you, Kriemhild! for servants seek anew; 
Well were you served by RUdeger ; he to the death was true. 

" The fact if still you 're doubting, before your eyes we '11 bring." 
' T was done e'en of set purpose her heart the more to wring. 
They brought the mangled margrave, where Etzel saw him well. 
Th' assembled knights of Hungary such utter anguish ne'er befell. 

When thus held high before them they saw the margrave dead, 
Sure by the choicest writer could ne'er be penn'd nor said 
The woeful burst of wailing from woman and eke from m.an, 
That from the heart's deep sorrow to strike all ears began. 

Above his weeping people King Etzel sorrow'd sore; 
His deep-voic'd wail resounded loud as the lion's roar 
In the night-shaded desert ; the like did Kriemhild too ; 
They mourn' d in heart for Riideger, the vahant and the true. 

Lettsom^s Translation, Thirty-seventh Adventure. 



THE SONG OF ROLAND. 



THE Song of Roland is one of the many mediaeval 
romances that celebrate the deeds of Charlemagne. 

The oldest text now in existence was written about 1096, 
but the poem was current in other forms long before this. 

The author was a Norman, for the poem is written in the 
Norman dialect ; but it is uncertain whether the Turoldus 
or Theroulde named in the last line of the poem, " Thus 
endeth here the geste Turoldus sang," was the author, a 
copyist, or a jongleur. 

It is said that Taillefer, the minstrel of Normandy, sang 
the Song of Roland at the battle of Hasdngs. " Taillefer, 
who right well sang, mounted on his rapid steed, went before 
them singing of Charlemagne, and of Roland, and Olivier, 
and of the vassals who died in Roncesvalles." 

The only text of the poem now in existence is one of 
the thirteenth century, preserved in the Bodleian library at 
Oxford. 

On the fifteenth of August, 778, in the valley of Ronces- 
valles, in the Pyrenees, Charlemagne's rear guard, left under 
the command of Roland, Prefect of the Marches of Brit- 
tany, was attacked and slaughtered by a large army of 
Gascons. 

This incident forms the historical basis of the poem ; but 
the imagination of the poet has made of Charlemagne, the? 
a young man, the old emperor, with " beard all blossc 
white," and transformed his Gascon foes to Saracens. 

The Song of Roland is written in the heroic pentamet 
is divided into *' laisses," or stanzas, of irregular leng^ 
contains about three thousand seven hundred ar 

13 



194 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



lines. It is written in the assonant, or vowel rhyme, that 
was universal among European nations in the early stage of 
their civilization. 

Each stanza ends with the word '' aoi," for which no sat- 
isfactory translation has yet been offered, although " away " 
and " it is done " have been suggested. 

The author of the Song of Roland undertook, like 
Homer, to sing of one great event about which all the in- 
terest of the poem centres ; but unlike Homer, his poem is 
out of all proportion, the long-drawn out revenge being in 
the nature of an anti-climax. The Song of Roland is a fair 
exponent of the people among whom it originated. It con- 
tains no ornament ; it is a straightforward relation of facts,; 
it lacks passion, and while it describes fearful slaughter, it 
never appeals to the emotions. Though the French army 
shed many tears, and fell swooning to the ground at the 
sight of the fearful slaughter at Roncesvalles, we are rather 
moved to smile at the violence of their emotion than to 
weep over the dead, so httle power has the poet to touch 
the springs of feeling. However, there are passages in 
which the poem rises to sublimity, and which have been 
pronounced Homeric by its admirers. 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Song of Roland. 
J. Banquier's Bibliographic de la Chanson de Roland, 1877 ; 
T. Bulfinch's Legends of Charlemagne, 1863 ; Sir G. W. 
Cox and E. H. Jones's Popular Romances of the Middle 
Ages, 187 1, pp. 320-347 ; Le'on Gautier's Les epopees 
frangaises, vol. i., 1878 ; J. Malcolm Ludlow's Story of Ro- 
land (see his Popular Epics of the Middle Ages, 1865, vol. i., 
pp. 362-427); Gaston Paris's La po^sie epique (see his 
Histoire po^tique de Charlemagne, 1865, pp. 1-33) ; Gas- 
on Paris's Les Chansons de Gestes frangaises (see his His- 
^*re po^tique de Charlemagne, 1865, pp. 69-72) ; George 
^tsbury's The Chansons de Gestes (see his Short History 
ench Literature, 1892, pp. 10-25) ^ Henri Van Laun's 
rlovingian Cycle (see his History of French Litera- 
*76, vol. i., pp. 141-148) ; Ancient Literature of 



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND 



195 



France, Quarterly Review, 1866, cxx. 283-323 ; The Chan- 
son de Roland, Westminster Review, 1873,0. 32-44; M. 
Hayden's The Chansons de Geste, Dublin Review, 1894, 
cxiv. 346-357 ; Charles Francis Keary's The Chansons de 
Geste; the Song of Roland, Eraser's Magazine, 188 1, civ. 
777-789 ; J. M. L.'s The Song of Roland, Macmillan's Maga- 
zine, 1862, vi. 486-501 ; Agnes Lambert's The oldest epic 
of Christendom, Nineteenth Century, 1882, xi. 77-101 ; 
Andrew Lang's The Song of Roland and the Iliad, National 
Review, 1892, xx. 195-205 ; Legend of Roland, Encyclopae- 
dia Britannica, vol. xx. ; Gustave Masson's The Chanson de 
Roland, Leisure Hour, 1877, xxvi. 618-620; The Song of 
Roland, CathoHc World, 1873 and 1874, xviii. 378-388, 
488-500; The Song of Roland, Harper's Monthly, 1882, 
Ixiv. 505-515 ; The Month, 1880, xl. 515-527 ; Temple Bar, 
1886, Ixxviii. 534-540. 

Standard English Translations, the Song of Roland. 
The Song of Roland, as chanted before the Battle of Hast- 
ings by the Minstrel Taillefer, Tr. from the French trans- 
lation of Vitet by Mrs. Anne Caldwell Marsh, 1854 ; The 
Song of Roland, Tr. into English verse by John O'Hagan, 
ed. 2, 1883 ; La Chanson de Roland, Tr. from the seventh 
ed. of Leon Gautier, by Leonce Rabillon, 1885. 



196 NATIONAL EPICS. 



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND. 

For full seven years had Charlemagne tarried in Spain, 
and all the land lay conquered save the city of Saragossa. 
There, in an orchard, upon a terrace paved with blue mar- 
ble, sat its king, Marsile, taking counsel with his lords. 

**No army have I," said the king; "no people to array 
against the hosts of the great emperor. Advise me, my 
lords, what I shall do to save ourselves from disgrace and 
shame." 

The wily Blancandrin, wisest and greatest among the pa- 
gans, advanced before him. " Where might cannot prevail, 
often craft gains the day. My lord, send gifts to mighty 
Carle. Drive forth a long train of camels ; heap many mules 
with gold ; send chariots filled with precious gifts. Advise 
him that on the day of Saint Michael's feast you will seek 
him at Aix, and there become a Christian, and his vassal. 
Yea, even send hostages ; my own son shall go, even though 
he lose his head. Then will Carle depart for France. The 
day set by you will come, but he will hear naught from us. 
The hostages' heads will fall. What of it? Better this than 
for us to lose forever Spain the fair." 

The king, pleased with the craft of Blancandrin, dismissed 
his council, and ordered ten of his fiercest barons to seek 
Charlemagne at Cordova, bearing the olive-branch, and make 
the offer suggested by Blancandrin. 

Cordova, filled with rich spoils, had been taken, and its 
surviving inhabitants given the choice of the sword or Chris- 
tian baptism. Therefore the happy emperor sat at his ease 
in a wide-spreading orchard. Around him stood Roland, 
Olivier, Samsun the duke, Anseis, Gefrei d'Anjou, and Ger- 
ier. At least fifteen thousand French knights were diverting 
themselves with different games in the beautiful orchard, 
where, under a pine-tree, the great King of France sat upon 
a golden chair. His white hair and flowing white beard added 
majesty to his already majestic figure, so that the olive-bear- 



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND^ 197 

ing messengers needed not to have great Carle pointed out 
to them. 

The emperor heard the message of Marsile in silence, 
and dismissing the pagans for the night to a pavilion, called 
together in council his wisest barons, Duke Ogier, Arch- 
bishop Turpin, Gerier, Roland, Olivier, a thousand Franks, 
among them Ganelon, the step-father of Roland, and laid 
before them the message of Marsile. 

" Rich gifts he offers me, but he demands that I return to 
France ; thither will he follow me, and at x\ix will become a 
Christian and a vassal. A fair promise, but what is in his 
heart I cannot tell." 

After a moment's silence Roland stood forth. 

" Sire, have no faith in the words of Marsile. When 
have we found aught but treachery in the Saracen? For 
seven years I have been winning victories for you here in 
Spain. Once before you yielded to such a message as this, 
from this same Marsile, and lost, in consequence, the heads 
of your Counts Bazan and Bazile. War on as you have 
begun. Besiege his city ! subdue Saragossa ! " 

Then strode forth the angry Ganelon. " My king, this 
young hot-head is a fool ; hearken not unto him. Accept 
the offer of Marsile, and lose no more lives by the fool- 
hardiness of one who cares more for his own glory than for 
human hfe." 

The voice of the others, among them Duke Naimes, 
Charlemagne's wisest counsellor and truest vassal, was with 
Ganelon. The emperor stroked his white beard. " My 
lords, whom shall we send to meet Marsile at Saragossa?" 

" I will go," said Duke Naimes. 

" Nay, I cannot spare you from my councils," replied the 
king. 

^•' I am here ! " cried Roland. 

'' Not you ! You are too hot-headed to venture into the 
court of the enemy ! " cried his friend Olivier. " Let rae 
go instead, sire ! " 

" Nay ! " cried the king. " Silence ! Not one of the 
twelve peers sets his foot in the kingdom of the Moors." 



1^8 NATIONAL EPICS. 

" Then let my step-father go," suggested Roland. " No 
wiser man than he can be found." 

" Come forward," said the king, as the Franks murmured 
assent, " and receive the staff and glove. The Franks have 
chosen you." 

Ganelon rose, wrathful, casting off his fur robe. His eyes 
were gray, his face fierce, his form noble. 

^•This is Roland's work. I shall hate him forever, and 
Olivier, and the twelve peers, because they love him. Ne'er 
shall I return ; full well I know it. If e'er I do, it will be to 
wreak vengeance on my enemy." 

" Go ! " said the king. '' You have said enough ! " 

As Ganelon went forward, full of rage, to receive the 
king's glove, it fell ere he touched it. " A bad omen ! " 
exclaimed the French. 

" Sirs, ye shall hear of this ! " said Ganelon. 

On his way to Saragossa with the legates of Marsile, 
Ganelon laid the impious plot that was to result in the de- 
struction of Roland and the peers. It saved his life at 
Saragossa, where Marsile threatened to kill him on reading 
Charlemagne's message. He explained carefully to the Sara- 
cens how the rear guard, left at Roncesvalles under the com- 
mand of Roland and the twelve peers, could be destroyed 
by the pagan forces before the knowledge of the battle could 
reach Charlemagne, and that, with these props of his king- 
dom gone, the king's power would be so diminished that 
Marsile could easily hold out against him. Then the traitor 
hastened back to Cordova, laden with rich gifts. 

When Ganelon rode back, the emperor was preparing to 
return to sweet France. "Barons," said Carle, "whom 
shall I leave in charge of these deep defiles and narrow 
passes? " 

" My step-son Roland is well able to take the command," 
said Ganelon ; " he your nephew, whom you prize most of 
all your knights." 

Rage filled the hearts of both Roland and Carle ; but the 
word was spoken, and Roland must remain. With him re- 
mained the twelve peers, his friends, Olivier, his devoted 



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND. 



199 



comrade, the gallant Archbishop Turpin, and twenty thou- 
sand valiant knights. 

While Charlemagne's army toiled over the terrible gorges 
and high mountains into Gascony, the emperor, ever griev- 
ing over the untimely death his nephew might meet in the 
defiles of Spain, down came the pagans, who had been gath- 
ering on the high mountains and in the murky valleys, — 
emirs, sons of noble counts were they, brave as the fol- 
lowers of Charlemagne. 

When Olivier descried the pagan horde he at once 
exclaimed, — 

" This is the work of Ganelon ! " 

" Hush ! " replied Roland. " He is my step-father. Say 
no more." 

Then OHvier, when from the hill he saw the one hundred 
thousand Saracens, their helmets bedecked with gold, their 
shields shining in the sun, besought his friend to sound his 
horn, the olifant, and summon the king to their aid. 

"Never will I so disgrace myself !" exclaimed Roland. 
" Never shall sweet France be so dishonored. One hundred 
thousand blows shall I give with my sword, my Durendal, 
and the Moors will fall and die ! " 

When Olivier found his pleading vain, he mounted his 
steed and rode with Roland to the front of the lines. 

Long was the fight and terrible. If gallantry and strength 
sat with the twelve peers and their followers, they were with 
their opponents as well. No sooner had Roland, or Olivier, 
or Turpin, or Engeher cleft the body of a Moorish knight 
down to the saddle, than down fell a Christian, his helmet 
broken, his hauberk torn by the lance of his dreaded foe. 
The nephew of Marsile fell by the hand of Roland, who 
taunted him as he lay in death ; Olivier struck down Mar- 
sile's brother. " A noble stroke ! " cried Roland. 

" A baron's stroke ! " exclaimed the archbishop, as Sam- 
sun pierced the Almazour with his lance and he fell dead. 
Olivier spurred over the field, crushing the pagans and beat- 
ing them down with his broken lance. 

" Comrade, where is thy sword, thy Halteclere ? " called 
Roland to his friend. 



200 NATIONAL EPICS. 

" Here, but I lack time to draw it," replied the doughty 
Ohvier. 

More than a thousand blows struck Turpin ; the pagans 
fell by hundreds and by thousands, and over the field lay 
scattered those who would nevermore see sweet France. 

Meanwhile, in France, hail fell and rain; the sky was 
vivid with lightning bolts. The earth shook, and the land 
lay in darkness at noonday. None understood the portent. 
Alas ! it was Nature's grief at the death of Count Roland. 

When Roland perceived that in spite of their mighty 
efforts the passes were still filled with heathen knights, and 
the French ranks were fast thinning, he said to Olivier, 
" What think you if we call the king? " 

" Never ! " exclaimed Ohvier. " Better death now than 
shame ! " 

"If I blow. Carle will hear it now and return. I shall 
blow my olifant," cried Roland. 

"When I begged you to blow it," said Olivier, "you re- 
fused, when you could have saved the lives of all of us. 
You will show no valor if you blow it now." 

" Great is the strife," said Roland. " I will blow that 
Carle may come." 

"Then," said Olivier, " if I return to France, I pledge you 
my word my sister Aude shall never be your wife. Your 
rashness has been the cause of our destruction. Now you 
shall die here, and here ends our friendship." 

Across the field the archbishop spurred to reconcile the 
friends. " Carle will come too late to save our lives," said 
he, " but he will reach the field in time to preserve our man- 
gled bodies and wreak vengeance on our foes." 

Roland put his horn to his lips and blew with such force 
that his temples burst and the crimson blood poured forth 
from his mouth. Three times he sounded his horn, and 
each time the sound brought anguish to the heart of Carle, 
who heard it, riding thirty leagues away. " Our men make 
battle ! " cried he ; but this Ganelon hastened to deny, in- 
sisting that Roland was but hunting and blowing the horn, 
taking sport among the peers. But Duke Naimes exclaimed, 



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND. 201 

" Your nephew is in sore distress. He who would deceive 
you is a traitor. Haste ! Shout your war-cry, and let us re- 
turn to the battle-field. You yourself hear plainly his call for 
help ! " 

Commanding Ganelon to be seized and given to the scul- 
lions of his house to be kept for punishment until his return, 
Carle ordered his men to arm and return to Roncesvalles, 
that they might, if possible, save the lives of the noble peers. 
All the army wept aloud as they thought of the doom of 
Roland. High were the mountains, deep the valleys, swift 
the rushing streams. The French rode on, answering the 
sound of the olifant ; the emperor rode, filled with grief and 
rage ; the barons spurred their horses, but in vain. 

After Roland had sounded the horn he again grasped 
Durendal, and, mounted on his horse Veillantif, scoured the 
battle-field, cutting down the heathen. But still their troops 
pressed him, and when he -saw the Ethiopian band led by 
the uncle of Marsile, he knew his doom had come. Olivier, 
riding forth to meet the accursed band, received his death- 
wound from the Kalif, but lived to cut his enemy down, and 
call Roland to him. Alas ! sight had forsaken his eyes, and as 
he sat on his steed he lifted his bright sword Halteclere, and 
struck Roland a fearful blow that clove his crest but did not 
touch his head. " Was the blow meant for me, my com- 
rade ? " asked Roland softly. " Nay, I can see no more. 
God pity me ! Pardon me, my friend ! " and as the two 
embraced each other, Olivier fell dead. 

Then, in the agony of his grief, Roland fainted, sitting 
firm in his saddle, and again recovering consciousness, be- 
came aware of the terrible losses of the French. Only him- 
self, the archbishop, and the gallant Gaultier de I'Hum were 
left to defend the honor of the French. After Gaultier fell, 
Roland, unassisted save by Turpin, who fought transfixed 
by four spear shafts, put the enemy to flight. Feeling his 
death wounds, Roland besought Turpin to let him bring to- 
gether the bodies of his fallen comrades that they might 
receive the blessing of the archbishop. Weak and trem- 
bling from loss of blood, Roland passed to and fro over the 



202 NATIONAL EPICS. 

corpse-bestrewn field, and gathered together his comrades : 
here, Gerin and Gerier, Berengier and Otun ; there, Anseis, 
Samsun, and Gerard de Roussillon, and last of all, his be- 
loved Olivier, and placing them before the knees of Turpin, 
he saw them receive his blessing. 

In his great grief at the sight of the dead Ohvier, Roland 
again fainted, and Turpin hastened to a little brook near by 
for water to revive him. But the strain was too great for his 
already weakened body, and, when Roland revived, it was 
to find the archbishop dead. 

Then Roland, realizing that his hour, too, had come, 
sought out a place in which to die. Upon a hill between 
two lofty trees, where was a marble terrace, he placed himself 
with his head towards the enemy's country ; and there a 
Saracen, who had feigned death to escape it, tried to wrest 
from him his beloved Durendal. 

Roland crushed the pagan's head with his olifant, but now 
he was troubled, for he feared that his sword would fall into 
other than Christian hands. Ill could he bear to be parted 
from his beloved sword. Its golden hilt contained rare 
relics, — a tooth of Saint Peter, blood, hair, and bones of 
other saints, and by the strength of these holy relics it had 
conquered vast realms. Ten and more mighty blows he 
struck with Durendal upon the hard rock of the terrace, in 
the endeavor to break it ; but it neither broke nor blunted. 
Then, counting over his great victories, he placed it and the 
olifant beneath him, and committed his soul to the Father, 
who sent down his angels to bear it to Paradise. 

When the French army, led by Charlemagne, found the 
passes heaped high with the bodies of the dead and no hv- 
ing soul to tell the story of the slaughter, they wept, and 
many fell swooning to the earth. But the enraged Charle- 
magne, unwilling then to give time for mourning, spurred 
on his soldiers, overtook the fleeing enemy, and drove them 
into the Ebro, so that those who survived the sword, per- 
ished by the wave. Then, returning to the field of Ronces- 
valles, he wept over his beloved Roland and the peers. 

Great was his grief; handfuls of hair he tore from his 



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND, 203 

head, and many times wished that his soul were in Para- 
dise, and his body beside that of Roland. He commanded 
that the hearts of Roland, Olivier, and Turpin be taken 
from their bodies, wrapped, and inurned, and the bodies 
borne home in chariots. The bodies of the others were 
gathered together in one tomb, and assoiled and blessed by 
the priests who accompanied the army. 

As Charlemagne prepared to start for France, he saw a 
new army approaching. The aged Emir Baligant, from 
Babylon, who had long ago been summoned by Marsile, had 
just arrived in Saragossa, and hastened forth to meet Charle- 
magne. The emir's army was countless, and Charlemagne's 
was weakened by its great loss. But the thought of the 
slaughtered peers spurred on the French, and with great 
Carle for their leader, they quickly put the pagans to flight. 

The Franks pursued the enemy to Saragossa, where the 
wounded Marsile expired on hearing of his defeat. The 
city was taken, its inhabitants either slain, or converted and 
.baptized, and Queen Bramimunde taken to France to be 
won to the true faith by gentler means. 

When Charlemagne entered his stately palace at Aix, he 
was met by the fair lady Aude. 

" Where is Roland, my betrothed? " 

Carle wept, tearing his white beard. 

" Thou askest of one who is no more. But in his place I 
will give thee my son. I can do no better." 

" Nay, God forbid that I should hve if Roland is dead ; " 
and so saying, Aude, the beautiful, fell dead at the feet of 
the emperor. 

From all his lands Carle summoned men to Aix for the 
trial of Ganelon. 

" Judge him according to the law, my barons," said the 
king. "He lost me twenty thousand of ray Franks. My 
nephew Roland, Ohvier, my twelve peers, he sold." 

" My king," pleaded Ganelon, " call it not treason. I was 
ever loyal to you. I thought not of gain, but of revenge 
against my rebellious and haughty step-son." 

The sentiment of many was with Ganelon, and Pinabel 



204 NATIONAL EPICS. 

offered to fight for him against Thierri, the champion of the 
king. Thirty knights of his kin gave themselves as legal 
sureties of his pledge, and the combat began. Pinabel was 
conquered and slain, and Ganelon was condemned to be 
torn to pieces by wild horses. His thirty sureties were also 
compelled to suffer death. 

Ganelon was punished ; Bramimunde was made a Chris- 
tian, and the emperor thought at last to have peace. But 
as night fell and he sought rest in his lofty room, Gabriel 
appeared to him. 

^' Summon thy hosts and march into Bire to succor King 
Vivien. The Christians look to thee for help." 

The king wept and tore his beard. " So troubled is my 
life ! " said he. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE SONG OF ROLAND. 

The Horn. 

The Rear Guard of the French army, left behind at Ronces- 
valles, under Roland, was attacked by a great host of Moors. 
In the beginning of the battle Olivier besought Roland to recall 
the emperor by blowing the olifant, whose sound could be heard 
for many leagues, but Roland refused. But when he saw the 
overwhelming forces of the Moors, and the field strewn with the 
corpses of the French, he resolved to blow the horn. 

Seeing so many warriors fall'n around, 

RoIMnd unto his comrade Olivier 

Spoke thus : " Companion fair and dear, for God 

Whose blessing rests on you, those vassals true 

And brave lie corses on the battle-field : 

Look ! We must mourn for France so sweet and fair, 

From henceforth widowed of such valiant knights. 

Carle, 'would you were amongst us, King and friend I 

What can we do, say, brother Olivier, 

To bring him news of this sore strait of ours ! " 

Olivier answers : " I know not ; but this 

I know ; for us is better death than shame." 

Aoi. 



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND. 205 

RoUand says : " I will blow mine olifant, 
And Carle will hear it from tlie pass. I pledge 
My word the French at once retrace their steps." 
Said Olivier : "This a great shame would be, 
One which to all your kindred would bequeathe 
A lifetime's stain. When this I asked of you, 
You answered nay, and would do naught. Well, now 
With my consent you shall not ; — if you blow 
Your horn, of valor true you show no proof. 
Already, both your arms are drenched with blood." 
Responds the count : " These arms have nobly struck." 

Aoi. 

" The strife is rude," RoUdnd says ; " I will blow 
My horn, that Carle may hear." — Said Olivier : 
" This would not courage be. What I desired. 
Companion, you disdained. Were the king here. 
Safe would we be, but yon brave men are not 
To blame." — " By this my beard," said Olivier, 
I swear, if ever I see again sweet Aude, 
My sister, in her arms you ne'er shall lie." 

Aoi. 

Rolland asked Olivier — " Why show to me 

Your anger, friend ? " — " Companion, yours the fault ; 

True courage means not folly. Better far 

Is prudence than your vahant rage. Our French 

Their lives have lost, your rashness is the cause. 

And now our arms can never more give Carle 

Their service good. Had you believed your friend. 

Amongst us would he be, and ours the field, 

The King Marsile, a captive or a corse. 

RolMnd, your valor brought ill fortune, nor 

Shall Carle the great e'er more our help receive, 

A man unequalled till God's judgment-day. 

Here shall you die, and dying, humble France, . . . 

This day our loyal friendship ends — ere falls 

The Vesper-eve, dolorously we part ! " 

Aoi. 

The archbishop heard their strife. In haste he drives 

Into his horse his spurs of purest gold, 

And quick beside them rides. Then chiding them, 

Says : " Sire RoUdnd, and you, Sire Olivier, 

In God's name be no feud between you two ; 

No more your horn shall save us ; nathless 't were 

Far better Carle should come and soon avenge 

Our deaths. So joyous then these Spanish foes 

Would not return. But as our Franks alight, 

Find us, or slain or mangled on the field, 

They will our bodies on their chargers' backs 



2o6 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Lift in their shrouds with grief and pity, all 

In tears, and bury us in holy ground : 

And neither wolves, nor swine, nor curs shall feed 

On us — " Replied RolMnd : " Well have you said." 

RolMnd raised to his lips the olifant, 
Drew a deep breath, and blew with all his force. 
High are the mountains, and from peak to peak 
The sound re-echoes ; thirty leagues away 
'T was heard by Carle and all his brave compeers. 
Cried the king : " Our men make battle ! " Ganelon 
Retorts in haste : '■' If thus another dared 
To speak, we should denounce it as a he." 

Aoi. 

The Count RolMnd in his great anguish blows 
His olifant so mightily, with such 
Despairing agony, his mouth pours forth 
The crimson blood, and his swol'n temples burst. 
Yea, but so far the ringing blast resounds ; 
Carle hears it, marching through the pass, Naimes harks, 
The French all listen with attentive ear. 
"That is RolMnd's horn ! " Carle cried, "which ne'er yet 
Was, save in battle, blown! " But Ganelon 
Replies : " No fight is there ! you, sire, are old. 
Your hair and beard are all bestrewn with gray. 
And as a child your speech. Well do you know 
RolMnd's great pride. 'T is marvellous God bears 
With him so long. Already took he Noble 
Without your leave. The pagans left their walls 
And fought RolMnd, your brave knight, in the field ; 
With his good blade he slew them all, and then 
Washed all the plain with water, that no trace 
Of blood was left — yea, oftentimes he runs 
After a hare all day and blows his horn. 
Doubtless he takes his sport now with his peers ; 
And who 'neath Heav'n would dare attack RolMnd ? 
None, as I deem. Nay, sire, ride on apace ; 
Why do you halt ? Still far is the Great Land." 

Aoi. 

RoUand with bleeding mouth and temples burst, 

Still, in his anguish, blows his olifant ; 

Carle hears it, and his Franks. The king exclaims: 

" That horn has a long breath ! " Duke Naimes replies : 

" RolMnd it is, and in a sore distress. 

Upon my faith a battle rages there ! 

A traitor he who would deceive you now. 

To arms ! Your war-cry shout, your kinsman save! 

Plainly enough you hear his call for help." 

Aoi. 



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND. 207 

Carle orders all the trumpeters to sound 

The march. The French alight. They arm themselves 

With helmets, hauberks and gold-hilted swords, 

Bright bucklers, long sharp spears, with pennons white 

And red and blue. The barons of the host 

Leap on their steeds, all spurring on ; while through 

The pass they march, each to the other says : 

" Could we but reach Rolland before he dies, 

What deadly blows, with his, our swords would strike ! " 

But what avails ? Too late they will arrive. 

Aoi. 

The ev'n is clear, the sun its radiant beams 

Reflects upon the marching legions, spears, 

Hauberks and helms, shields painted with bright flowers, 

Gold pennons all ablaze with glitt'ring hues. 

Burning with wrath the emperor rides on ; 

The French with sad and angered looks. None there 

But weeps aloud. All tremble for RoUdnd. 



The king commands Count Ganelon be seized 
And given to the scullions of his house. 
Their chief, named Begue, he calls and bids : " Guard well 
This man as one who all my kin betrayed." 
Him Begue received, and set upon the count 
One hundred of his kitchen comrades — best 
And worst ; they pluck his beard on lip and cheek ; 
Each deals him with his fist four blows, and falls 
On him with lash and stick ; they chain his neck 
As they would chain a bear, and he is thrown 
For more dishonor on a sumpter mule, 
There guarded so until to Carle brought back. 

Aoi. 

High are the mountains, gloomy, terrible, 

The valleys deep, and swift the rushing streams. 

In van, in rear, the brazen trumpets blow, 

Answering the olifant. With angry look 

Rides on the emp'ror; filled with wrath and grief, 

Follow the French, each sobbing, each in tears. 

Praying that God may guard RolMnd, until 

They reach the battle-field. With him what blows 

Will they not strike ! Alas ? what boots it now .? 

Too late they are and cannot come in time. 

Aoi. 

Carle in great anger rides — his snow-white beard 
O'erspreads his breast-plate. Hard the barons spur, 
For never one but inwardly doth rage 



2o8 NATIONAL EPICS. 

That he is far from their great chief, RoUand, 
Who combats now the Saracens of Spain : 
If wounded he, will one of his survive ? 
O God ! What knights those sixty left by him ! 
Nor king nor captain better ever had. . . , 

Aoi. 



Eabillon's Translation. 



Roland's Death. 

When all the French lay dead upon the field except Roland 
and the Archbishop Turpin, Roland gathered together the 
bodies of his dead comrades, the peers, that they might receive 
the archbishop's blessing. He then fell fainting from grief, 
and aroused himself to lind the archbishop dead also. 

RoUand now feels his death is drawing nigh : 
From both his ears the brain is oozing fast. 
For all his peers he prays that God may call 
Their souls to him ; to the Angel Gabriel 
He recommends his spirit. In one hand 
He takes the olifant, that no reproach 
May rest upon him ; in the other grasps 
Durendal, his good sword. Forward he goes, 
Far as an arblast sends a shaft, across 
A new-tilled ground and toward the land of Spain. 
Upon a hill, beneath two lofty trees, 
Four terraces of marble spread ; — he falls 
Prone fainting on the green, for death draws near. 

Aoi. 

High are the mounts, and lofty are the trees. 
Four terraces are there, of marble bright : 
There Count RolMnd lies senseless on the grass. 
Him at this moment spies a Saracen 
W'ho lies among the corpses, feigning death, 
His face and body all besmeared with blood. 
Sudden he rises to his feet, and bounds 
Upon the baron. Handsome, brave, and strong 
He was, but from his pride sprang mortal rage. 
He seized the body of Rolland, and grasped 
His arms, exclaiming thus : " Here vanquished Carle's 
Great nephew lies ! This sword to Araby 
I '11 bear." He drew it ; this aroused the count. 

Aoi. 



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND. 209 

Rolland perceived an alien hand would rob 
Him of his sword ; his eyes he oped ; one word 
He spoke : " I trow, not one of us art thou ! " 
Then with his olifant from which he parts 
Never, he smites the golden studded helm, 
Crushing the steel, the head, the bones ; both eyes 
Are from their sockets beaten out — o'erthrown 
Dead at the baron's feet he falls ; — " O wretch," 
He cries, '' how durst thou, or for good or ill, 
Lay hands upon Rolland ? Who hears of this 
Will call thee fool. Mine olifant is cleft, 
Its gems and gold all scattered by the blow." 

Aoi. 

Now feels RolMnd that death is near at hand 
And struggles up with all his force ; his face 
Grows livid ; Durendal, his naked sword, 
He holds ; beside him rises a gray rock 
On which he strikes ten mighty blows through grief 
And rage. The steel but grinds ; it breaks not, nor 
Is notched; then cried the count : Saint Mary, help ! 
O Durendal ! Good sword ! ill starred art thou ! 
Though we two part, I care not less for thee. 
What victories together thou and I 

Have gained, what kingdoms conquered, which now holds 
White-bearded Carle ! No coward's hand shall grasp 
Thy hilt : a valiant knight has borne thee long. 
Such as none shall e'er bear in France the Free ! " 

Aoi. 

Rolland smites hard the rock of Sardonix ; 

The steel but grinds, it breaks not, nor grows blunt ; 

Then seeing that he cannot break his sword. 

Thus to himself he mourns for Durendal: 

*' O good my sword, how bright and pure ! Against 

The sun what flashing light thy blade reflects ! 

When Carle passed through the valley of Moriane, 

The God of Heaven by his Angel sent 

Command that he should give thee to a count, 

A valiant captain ; it was then the great 

And gentle king did gird thee to my side. 

With thee I won for him Anjou — Bretaigne ; 

For him with thee I won Poitou. le Maine 

And Normandie the free ; I won Provence 

And Aquitaine, and Lumbardie, and all 

The Romanie ; I won for him Baviere, 

All Flandre — Buguerie — all Puillanie, 

Costentinnoble which allegiance paid. 

And Saxonie submitted to his power ; 

For him I won Escoce and Galle, Irlande 



2 lo NA TIONAL EPICS. 



And Engleterre he made his royal seat ; 
With thee I conquered all the lands and realms 
Which Carle, the hoary-bearded monarch, rules. 
Now for this sword I mourn. . . . Far better die 
Than in the hands of pagans let it fall ! 
May God, Our Father, save sweet France this shame ! " 

Aoi. 

Upon the gray rock mightily he smites, 
Shattering it more than I can tell ; the sword 
But grinds. It breaks not — nor receives a notch, 
And upward springs more dazzling in the air. 
When sees the Count RoUand his sword can never break, 
Softly Avithin himself its fate he mourns : 
" O Durendal, how fair- and holy thou ! 
In thy gold-hilt are relics rare ; a tooth 
Of great Saint Pierre — some blood of Saint Basile, 
A lock of hair of Monseigneur Saint Denis, 
A fragment of the robe of Sainte-Marie. 
It is not right that pagans should own thee; 
By Christian hand alone be held. Vast realms 
I shall have conquered once that now are ruled 
By Carle, the king with beard all blossom-white, 
And by them made great emperor and lord. 
May thou ne'er fall into a cowardly hand." 

Aoi. 

The Count Rolland feels through his limbs the grasp 
Of death, and from his head ev'n to his heart 
A mortal chill descends. Unto a pine 
He hastens, and falls stretched upon the grass. 
Beneath him lie his sword and olifant, 
And toward the Heathen land he turns his head, 
That Carle and all his knightly host may say : 
" The gentle count a conqueror has died. . . ." 
Then asking pardon for his sins, or great 
Or small, he offers up his glove to God. 

Aoi. 

The Count Rolland feels now his end approach. 
Against a pointed rock, and facing Spain, 
He lies. Three times he beats his breast, and says : 
" Mea culpa ! Oh, my God, may through thy grace, 
Be pardoned all my sins, or great or small, 
Until this hour committed since my birth ! " 
Then his right glove he offers up to God, 
And toward him angels from high Heav'n descend. 

Aoi. 



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND. 211 

Beneath a pine Rolled doth lie, and looks 
Toward Spain. He broods on many things of yore : 
On all the lands he conquered, on sweet France, 
On all his kinsmen, on great Carle his lord 
Who nurtured him ; — he sighs, nor can restrain 
His tears, but cannot yet himself forget ; 
Recalls his sins, and for the grace of God 
He prays : " Our Father, never yet untrue, 
Who Saint-Lazare raised from the dead, and saved 
Thy Daniel from the lions' claws, — oh, free 
My soul from peril, from my whole life's sins ! " 
His right hand glove he offered up to God ; 
Saint Gabriel took the glove. — With head reclined 
Upon his arm, with hands devoutly joined 
He breathed his last. God sent his cherubim, 
Saint- Raphael, Saint Michiel del Peril. 
Together with them Gabriel came. All bring 
The soul of Count Rolland to Paradise. 

Aoi. 

Rabillon^s Translation, 



THE SHAH-NAMEH. 



THE monarchs of ancient Persia made several attempts 
to collect the . historic annals of their country, but 
both people and traditions were scattered by the Arabian 
conquest. The manuscript annals were carried to Abyssinia, 
thence to India, and were taken back to Persia just when 
the weakness of the conquerors was beginning to show itself. 
The various members of the Persian line, who had declared 
themselves independent of their conquerors, determined to 
rouse the patriotism of their countrymen by the recital of 
the stirring deeds of the warriors of old Persia. 

The fame of Abul Kasin Mansur, born at Thus, in Kho- 
rasan, a. d. 920, reached Mahmoud of Ghaznin, w^ho w^as 
searching for a poet to re-cast the annals of Persia. He 
called the poet to his court, and, on hearing him improvise, 
called him Firdusi (the paradisiacal). The poet was in- 
trusted with the preparation of the Shah-Nameh, or Epic of 
Kings, for every one thousand distichs of which he was to 
receive a thousand pieces of gold. It had been the dream 
of the poet's Hfe to build a bridge and otherwise improve his 
native town. He therefore asked that the payment be de- 
ferred until the completion of his work, that he might apply 
the entire sum to these improvements. But when the poem 
was completed, after thirty years' labor, the king, instigated 
by the slanders of the jealous prime minister, sent to the 
poet sixty thousand silver instead of gold dirhems. The 
enraged poet threw the silver to his attendants and fled from 
the country, leaving behind him an insulting poem to the 
sultan. He spent the remainder of his life at Mazinderan 



214 NATIONAL EPICS. 

and Bagdad, where he was received with honor, and in his 
old age returned to Thus to die. Tradition relates that 
Mahmoud at last discovered the villainy of his minister, and 
sent the gold to Thus. But the old poet was dead, and his 
daughter indignantly refused the money. Mahmoud then 
apphed the sum to the improvements of the town so long 
desired by Firdusi. 

The Shah-Nameh is written in the pure old Persian, that 
Mohammed declared would be the language of Paradise. 
In its sixty thousand couplets are related the deeds of the 
Persian kings from the foundation of the world to the inva- 
sion by the Mohammedans ; but it is of very little value as a 
historical record, the facts it purports to relate being almost 
lost among the Oriental exaggerations of the deeds of its 
heroes. 

The only complete translation in a foreign language is the 
elaborate French translation of Julius Mohl. 

The Shah-Nameh is still popular in Persia, where it is said 
that even the camel drivers are able to repeat long portions 
of it. Firdusi is sometimes called the Homer of the East, 
because he describes rude heroic times and men, as did 
Homer ; but he is also compared to Ariosto, because of his 
wealth of imagery. His heroes are very different from those 
to whom we have been wont to pay our allegiance ; but they 
fight for the same principles and worship as lovely maids, to 
judge from the hyperbole employed in their description. 
The condensation of the Shah-Nameh reads like a dry 
chronicle ; but in its entirety it reminds one of nothing so 
much as a gorgeous Persian web, so light and varied, so 
brightened is it by its wealth of episode. 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Shah-Nameh. Samuel 
Johnson's The Shah-Nameh, or Book of Kings (in his Ori- 
ental Rehgion, Persia, 1885, pp. 711-782); E. B. Cowell's 
Persian Literature, Firdusi (in Oxford Essays, 1885, pp. 
164-166) ; Elizabeth A. Reed's Persian Literature, Ancient 
and Modern, 1893, pp. 214-283. 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAME H 215 

Standard English Translations, the Shah-Nameh. 
The Shah-Nameh, Tr. and abridged in prose and verse 
with notes and illustrations, by James Atkinson, 1832; 
Abbreviated version taken from a Persian abridgment, half 
prose, half verse ; The Epic of Kings, Stories re-told from 
Firdusi, by Helen Zimmern, 1882. 



2i6 NATIONAL EPICS. 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH. 

Kaiumers was the first King of Persia, and against him 
Ahriman, the evil, through jealousy of his greatness, sent 
forth a mighty Deev to conquer him. By this Deev, Saia- 
muk, the son of Kaiumers, was slain, and the king himself 
died of grief at the loss of his son. 

Husheng, his grandson, who succeeded Kaiumers, was a 
great and wise king, who gave fire to his people, taught them 
irrigation, instructed them how to till and sow, and gave 
names to the beasts. His son and successor, Tahumers, 
taught his people the arts of spinning, weaving, and writing, 
and when he died left his throne to his son Jemschid. 

Jemschid was a mighty monarch, who divided men into 
classes, and the years into periods, and builded mighty walls 
and cities ; but his heart grew proud at the thought of his 
power, and he was driven away from his land by his people, 
who called Zohak to the throne of Iran. 

Zohak, who came from the deserts of Arabia, was a good 
and wise young man who had fallen into the power of a 
Deev. This Deev, in the guise of a skillful servant, asked 
permission one day to kiss his monarch between the shoul- 
ders, as a reward for an unusually fine bit of cookery. From 
the spot he kissed sprang two black serpents, whose only 
nourishment was the brains of the king's subjects. 

The serpent king, as Zohak was now called, was much 
feared by his subjects, who saw their numbers daily lessen 
by the demands of the serpents. But when the children of 
the blacksmith Kawah were demanded as food for the ser- 
pents, the blacksmith defied Zohak, and raising his leathern 
apron as a standard, — a banner ever since honored in Per- 
sia, — he called the people to him, and set off in search of 
Feridoun, an heir of Jemschid. Under the young leader 
the oppressed people defeated the tyrant, and placed Feri- 
doun on the throne. 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH. 



217 



Feridoun had three sons, Irij, Tur, and Silim. Having 
tested their bravery, he divided the kingdom among them, 
giving to Irij the kingdom of Iran. Although the other 
brothers had received equal shares of the kingdom, they 
were enraged because Iran was not their portion, and when 
their complaints to their father were not heeded, they slew 
their brother. Irij left a son, a babe named Minuchihr, 
who was reared carefully by Feridoun. In time he avenged 
his father, by defeating the armies of his uncles and slaying 
them both. Soon after this, Feridoun died, intrusting his 
grandson to Saum, his favorite pehliva, or vassal, who ruled 
over Seistan. 

Saum was a childless monarch, and when at last a son 
was born to him he was very happy until he learned that 
while the child was perfect in every other way, it had the 
silver hair of an old man. Fearing the talk of his enemies, 
Saum exposed the child on a mountain top to die. There 
it was found by the Simurgh, a remarkable animal, part bird, 
part human, that, touched by the cries of the helpless in- 
fant, carried him to her great nest of aloes and sandal-wood, 
and reared him with her little ones. 

Saum, who had lived to regret his foolish and wicked act, 
was told in a dream that his son still lived, and was being cared 
for by the Simurgh. He accordingly sought the nest, and 
carried his son away with great thanksgiving." The Simurgh 
parted tenderly with the little Zal, and presented him with a 
feather from her wing, telling him that whenever he was in 
danger, he had only to throw it on the fire and she would 
instantly come to his aid. 

Saum first presented his son at the court of Minuchihr, 
and then took him home to Zaboulistan, where he was care- 
fully instructed in every art and science. 

At one time, while his father was invading a neighboring 
province, Zal travelled over the kingdom and stopped at the 
court of Mihrab, a tributary of Saum, who ruled at Kabul. 
Though a descendant of the serpent king, Mihrab was good, 
just, and wise, and he received the young warrior with hos- 
pitality. Zal had not been long in Kabul before he heard of 



2i8 NATIONAL EPICS. 

the beauties of Rudabeh, the daughter of Mihrab, and she, 
in turn, of the great exploits of Zal. By an artifice of the 
princess they met and vowed to love one another forever, 
though they knew their love would meet with opposition. 
Saum and Zal both pleaded Zal's cause before Minuchihr, 
who relented when he heard from the astrologers that a 
good and mighty warrior would come of the union. Ruda- 
beh's mother won the consent of Mihrab, so that the young 
people were soon married with great pomp. To them a son 
was born named Rustem, who, when one day old, was as 
large as a year-old child. When three years old he could 
ride a horse, and at eight years was as powerful as any hero 
of the time. 

Nauder succeeded the good Minuchihr, and under him 
Persia was defeated by the Turanians, and Afrasiyab occu- 
pied the Persian throne. But Zal, whose father, Saum, had 
died, overthrew him and placed Zew upon the throne. Zew's 
reign was short, and Garshasp, his son, succeeded him. 
When he was threatened by the Turanians, his people went 
for aid to Zal, who, because he was growing old, referred 
them to Rustem, yet of tender age. Rustem responded 
gladly, and his father commanded that all the horses from 
Zaboulistan to Kabul be brought forth that his son might 
select a steed therefrom. Every horse bent beneath his 
grasp until he came to the colt Rakush, which responded to 
Rustem's voice, and suffered him to mount it. From that 
day to his death, this steed was his faithful companion and 
preserver. 

Garshasp was too weak to rule over the kingdom, and 
Zal despatched Rustem to Mt. Alberz, where he had been 
told in a dream a youth dwelt called Kai-Kobad, descended 
from Feridoun. Kai-Kobad welcomed Rustem, and the two, 
with the noblest of the kingdom, defeated the power of 
Turan. 

After a reign of a hundred years, the wise Kai-Kobad died, 
and was succeeded by his son, the foolish Kai-Kaus, who, 
not satisfied with the wealth and extent of his kingdom, 
determined to conquer the kingdom of Mazinderan, ruled 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH. 219 

by the Deevs. Zal's remonstrances were of no avail : the 
headstrong Kai-Kaus marched into Mazinderan, and, to- 
gether with his whole army, was conquered, imprisoned, and 
blinded by the power of the White Deev. 

When the news of the monarch's misfortune came to Iran, 
Rustem immediately saddled Rakush, and, choosing the 
shortest and most peril-beset route, set forth, unaccom- 
panied, for Mazinderan. If he survived the dangers that 
lurked by the way, he would reach Mazinderan in seven 
days. 

While sleeping in a forest, after his first day's journey, he 
was saved from a fierce lion by Rakush, who stood at his 
head. 

On the second day, just as he believed himself perishing 
of thirst, he was saved by a sheep that he followed to a 
fountain of water ; on the third night, Rakush, whom he had 
angrily forbidden to attack any animal without waking him, 
twice warned him of the approach of a dragon. The first 
time the dragon disappeared when Rustem awoke, and he 
spoke severely to his faithful horse. The second time he 
slew the dragon, and morning having dawned, proceeded 
through a desert, where he was offered food and wine by a 
sorceress. Not recognizing her, and grateful for the food, 
he offered her a cup of wine in the name of God, and she 
was immediately converted into a black fiend, whom he 
slew. 

He was next opposed by Aulad, whom he defeated, and 
promised to make ruler of Mazinderan if he would guide 
him to the caves of the Wliite Deev. A stony desert and 
a wide stream lay between him and the demon ; but the 
undaunted Rustem passed over them, and choosing the mid- 
dle of the day, at which time Aulad told him the Deevs 
slept, he slew the guards, entered the cavern, and after a 
terrible struggle, overcame and slew the great Deev. 

He then released Kai-Kaus and his arm.y, and restored 
their sight by touching their eyes with the blood from the 
Deev's heart. 

Kai-Kaus, not satisfied with this adventure, committed 



2 20 NATIONAL EPICS. 

many other follies, from which it taxed his warrior sorely to 
rescue him. 

Once he was imprisoned by the King of Hamaveran after 
he had espoused his daughter ; again he followed the advice 
of a wicked Deev, and tried to search the heavens in a 
flying-machine, that descended and left him in a desert 
waste. It was only after this last humiliation that he hum- 
bled himself, lay in the dust many days, and at last became 
worthy of the throne of his fathers. 

At one time Rustem was hunting near the borders of 
Turan, and, falling asleep, left Rakush to graze in the forest, 
where he was espied by the men of Turan and at once cap- 
tured. When Rustem awoke he followed his steed by the 
traces of its hoofs, until he came to the city of Samengan. 
The king received him kindly, and promised to restore the 
horse if it could be found. While his messengers went in 
search of it, he feasted his guest, and led him for the night 
to a perfumed couch. 

In the middle of the night Rustem awoke, to see a beautiful 
young woman enter the room, accompanied by a maid. She 
proved to be the princess, who had fallen in love with Rus- 
tem. She pleaded with him to return her love, promising, 
if he did so, to restore his cherished horse. Rustem longed 
for his steed ; moreover, the maiden was irresistibly beau- 
tiful. He accordingly yielded to her proposals, and the 
two were wedded the next day, the king having given his 
consent. 

After tarrying some time in Samengan, Rustem was forced 
to return to Iran. Bidding his bride an affectionate fare- 
well, he presented her with a bracelet. 

" If thou art given a daughter, place this amulet in her 
hair to guard her from harm. If a son, bind it on his arm, 
that he may possess the valor of Nariman." 

In the course of time, the princess bore a boy, who was 
like his father in beauty and boldness, whom she christened 
Sohrab. But for fear that she would be deprived of him, 
she wrote to Rustem that a daughter had been born to her. 
To her son she declared the secret of his birth, and urged 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH. 221 

him to be like his father in all things ; but she warned him 
not to disclose the secret, for she feared that if it came to 
the ears of Afrasiyab, he would destroy him because of his 
hatred of Rustem. 

Sohrab, who had already cherished dreams of conquest, 
was elated at the knowledge of his parentage. '' Mother," 
exclaimed he, " I shall gather an army of Turks, conquer 
Iran, dethrone Kai-Kaus, and place my father on the throne ; 
then both of us will conquer Afrasiyab, and I will mount the 
throne of Turan." 

The mother, pleased with her son's valor, gave him for a 
horse a foal sprung from Rakush, and fondly watched his 
preparations for war. 

The wicked Afrasiyab well knew that Sohrab was the son 
of Rustem. He was also aware that it was very dangerous 
to have two such mighty warriors alive, since if they became 
known to each other, they would form an alliance. He 
planned, therefore, to aid Sohrab in the war, keeping him in 
ignorance of his father, and to manage in some way to have 
the two meet m battle, that one or both might be slain. 

The armies met and the great battle began. Sohrab 
asked to have Rustem pointed out to him, but the soldiers 
on his side were all instructed to keep him in ignorance. By 
some strange mischance the two men whom his mother had 
sent to enlighten him, were both slain. Rustem was moved 
at the sight of the brave young warrior, but remembering 
that Tahraineh's offspring was a daughter, thought nothing 
more of the thrill he felt at sight of him. At last Sohrab 
and Rustem met in single combat. Sohrab was moved with 
tenderness for his unknown opponent, and besought him to 
tell him if he was Rustem, but Rustem declared that he was 
only a servant of that chief. For three days they fought 
bitterly, and on the fourth day Rustem overthrew his son. 
When Sohrab felt that the end had come he threatened 
his unknown opponent. " Whoever thou art, know that I 
came not out for empty glory but to find my father, and that 
though I have found him not, when he hears that thou hast 
slain his son he will search thee out and avenge me, no 



2 22 NATIONAL EPICS. 

matter where thou hidest thyself. For my father is the great 
Rustem." 

Rustem fell down in agony when he heard his son's words, 
and realized that his guile had prevented him from being 
made known the day before. He examined the onyx brace- 
let on Sohrab's arm ; it was the same he had given Tahmineh. 
Bethinking himself of a magic ointment possessed by Kai- 
Kaus, he sent for it that he might heal his dying son ; but 
the foohsh king, jealous of his prowess, refused to send it, 
and Sohrab expired in the arms of his father. 

Rustem's heart was broken. He heaped up his armor, 
his tent, his trappings, his treasures, and flung them into a 
great fire. The house of Zal was filled with mourning, and 
when the news was conveyed to Samengan, he tore his gar- 
ments, and his daughter grieved herself to death before a 
year had passed away. 

To Kai-Kaus and a wife of the race of Feridoun was born 
a son called Saiawush. who was beautiful, noble, and virtuous. 
But his foolish father allowed himself to be prejudiced against 
the youth by slanderous tongues, so that Saiawush fled from 
the court and sought shelter with Afrasiyab in Turan. There 
he speedily became popular, and took unto himself for a wife 
the daughter of Afrasiyab. But when he and Ferandis his 
wife built a beautiful city, the hatred and jealousy of Gersi- 
waz was aroused, so that he lied to Afrasiyab and said that 
Saiawush was puffed up with pride, and at last induced 
Afrasiyab to slay his son-in-law. 

Saiawush had a son, Kai-Khosrau, who was saved by 
Piran, a kind-hearted nobleman, and given into the care of 
a goatherd. When Afrasiyab learned of his existence he 
summoned him to his presence, but the youth, instructed by 
Piran, assumed the manners of an imbecile, and was accord- 
ingly freed by Afrasiyab, who feared no harm from him. 

When the news of the death of Saiawush was conveyed 
to Iran there was great mourning, and war was immediately 
declared against Turan. For seven years the contest was 
carried on, always without success, and at the end of that 
time Gudarz dreamed that a son of Saiawush was living 



J 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH 



223 



called Kai-Khosrau, and that until he was sought out and 
placed at the head of the army, deliverance could not come 
to Iran. Kai-Khosrau was discovered, and led the armies on 
to victory ; and when Kai-Kaus found that his grandson was 
not only a great warrior, skilled in magic, but also possessed 
wisdom beyond his years, he resigned the throne and made 
Kai-Khosrau ruler over Iran. 

Kai-Khosrau ruled many long years, in which time he 
brought peace and happiness to his kingdom, avenged the 
murder of his father, and compassed the death of the wicked 
Afrasiyab. Then, fearing that he might become puffed up 
with pride like Jemschid, he longed to depart from this 
world, and prayed Ormuzd to take him to his bosom. 

The king, after many prayers to Ormuzd, dreamed that 
his wish would be granted if he set the affairs of his king- 
dom in order and appointed his successor. Rejoiced, he 
called his nobles together, divided his treasure among them, 
and appointed his successor, Lohurasp, whom he com- 
manded to be the woof and warp of justice. Accompanied 
by a few of his faithful friends, he set out on the long jour- 
ney to the crest of the mountains. At his entreaties, some 
of his friends turned back ; those who stayed over night, in 
spite of his warnings, found on waking that they were cov- 
ered by a heavy fall of snow, and were soon frozen. After- 
wards their bodies were found and received a royal burial. 

Lohurasp had a son Gushtasp who greatly desired to rule, 
and was a just monarch, when he succeeded to the throne. 
Gushtasp, however, was jealous of his son, Isfendiyar, who 
was a great warrior. When Gushtasp was about to be over- 
come by the forces of Turan, he promised Isfendiyar the 
throne, if he would destroy the enemy ; but when the hosts 
were scattered, and Isfendiyar reminded his father of his 
promise, he was cast into a dungeon, there to remain until 
his services were again needed. When he had again gained 
a victory, he was told that the throne should be his when he 
had rescued his sisters from the brazen fortress of Arjasp, 
where they had been carried and imprisoned. 

On his way to this tower Isfendiyar met with as many ter- 



224 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



rible foes as Rustem had encountered on his way to the White 
Deev, and as successfully overcame them. Wolves, lions, 
enchantresses, and dragons barred the way to the impreg- 
nable fortress, which rose three farsangs high and forty wide, 
and was constructed entirely of brass and iron. But Isfen- 
diyar, assuming the guise of a merchant and concealing his 
warriors in chests, won his way into the castle, gained the 
favor of its inmates, and made them drunk with wine. This 
done, he freed his sisters, slew the guards, and struck down 
Arjasp. 

Instead of keeping his promise, Gushtasp hastened to set 
his son another task. Rustem was his Pehliva, but it pleased 
him to send forth Isfendiyar against him, commanding him 
to bring home the mighty warrior in chains. Isfendiyar 
pleaded in vain with his father. Then he explained the 
situation to Rustem, and begged that he would accompany 
him home in peace to gratify his father. Rustem refused to 
go in chains, so the two heroes reluctantly began the hardest 
battle of their lives. 

At the end of the first day, Rustem and Rakush were 
severely wounded, and on his return home Rustem hap- 
pened to think of the Simurgh. Called by the burning of 
the feather, the kind bird healed the wounds of the hero and 
of Rakush, and instructed Rustem how to slay his foe. 
^* Seek thou the tamarisk tree, and make thereof an arrow. 
Aim at his eye, and there thou canst blind and slay him." 

Rustem followed the directions, and laid low the gallant 
youth. Isfendiyar died exclaiming, " My father has slain me, 
not thou, Rustem. I die, the victim of my father's hate ; do 
thou keep for me and rear my son ! "» 

Rustem, who had lived so long and accomplished such 
great deeds, died at last by the hand of his half-brother. 
This brother, Shugdad, stirred up the king of Kabul, in 
whose court he was reared, to slay Rustem because he ex- 
acted tribute from Kabul. 

Rustem was called into Kabul by Shugdad, who claimed 
that the king mistreated him. When he arrived, the matter 
was setded amicably, and the brothers set out for a hunt 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH. 225 

with the king. Tlie hunters were led to a spot where the 
false king had caused pits to be dug lined with sharp weapons. 
Rustem, pleased with his kind reception and suspecting no 
harm, beat Rakush severely when he paused and would go 
no further. Stung by the blows^ the gallant horse sprang 
forward, and fell into the pit. As he rose from this, he fell 
into another, until, clambering from the seventh pit, he and 
Rustem fell swooning with pain. 

" False brother !" cried Rustem ; " what hast thou done? 
Was it for thee to slay thy father's son? Exult now; but 
thou wilt yet suffer for this crime ! " Then altering his tone, 
he said gently : " But give me, I pray thee, my bow and 
arrows, that I may have it by my side to slay any wild beast 
that may try to devour me." 

Shugdad gave him the bow ; and when he saw the gleam 
in Rustem's eyes, concealed himself behind a tree. But the 
angry Rustem, grasping the bow with something of his former 
strength, sent the arrow through tree and man, transfixing 
both. Then thanking his Creator that he had been given 
the opportunity to slay his murderer, he breathed his last. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE SHAH-NAMEH. 

The Raja of India sends a Chessboard to Nushirvan. 

" This account of the game of chess, written by Ferdusi more 
than eight hundred years ago, is curious as showing the an- 
tiquity of the game, its resemblance to it as now played, and 
the tradition that it was invented in India, and came originally 
from that country." 

A Mubid related, how one day the king 

Suspended his crown over the ivory throne, 

All aloes-wood and ivory, and all ivory and aloes ; ' 

Every pavilion a court, and every court a royal one ; 

All the Hall of Audience crowned with soldiers ; 

Every pavilion filled with Mubids and Wardens of the Marches, 

From Balkh, and Bokhara, and from every frontier — 

IS 



226 NATIONAL EPICS. 

For the King of the world had received advices 

From his vigilant and active emissaries, 

That an Ambassador had arrived from a King of India, 

With the parasol, and elephants, and cavalry of Sind, 

And, accompanied by a thousand laden camels, 

Was on his way to visit the Great King. 

When the circumspect Monarch heard this news. 

Immediately he despatched an escort to receive him. 

And when the illustrious and dignified Ambassador 

Came into the presence of the Great King, 

According to the manner of the great, he pronounced a benediction, 

And uttered the praise of the Creator of the world. 

Then he scattered before him abundance of jewels. 

And presented the parasol, the elephants, and the ear-rings ; 

The Indian parasol embroidered with gold, 

And inwoven with all kinds of precious stones. 

Then he opened the packages in the midst of the court, 

And displayed each one, article by article, before the King. 

Within the chest was much silver, and gold, 

And musk, and amber, and fresh wood of aloes, 

Of rubies, and diamonds, and Indian swords. 

Each Indian sword was beautifully damascened ; 

Everything which is produced in Kanuj and Mai 

Hand and foot were busy to put in its place. 

They placed the whole together in front of the throne, 

And the Chief, the favored of wakeful Fortune, 

Surveyed all that the Raja had painstakingly collected, 

And then commanded that it should be sent to his treasury. 

Then the Ambassador presented, written on silk. 

The letter which the Raja had addressed to Nushirvan ; 

And a chessboard, wrought with such exceeding labor. 

That the pains bestowed upon it might have emptied a treasury. 

And the Indian delivered a message from the Raja : 

*' So long as the heavens revolve, may thou be established in thy place ! 

All who have taken pains to excel in knowledge, 

Command to place this chessboard before them. 

And to exert their utmost ingenuity 

To discover the secret of this noble game. 

Let them learn the name of every piece, 

Its proper position, and what is its movement. 

Let them make out the foot-soldier of the army. 

The elephant, the rook, and the horseman. 

The march of the vizier and the procession of the King. 

If they discover the science of this noble game. 

They will have surpassed the most able in science. 

Then the tribute and taxes which the King hath demanded 

1 will cheerfully send all to his court. 

But if the congregated sages, men of Iran, 

Should prove themselves completely at fault in this science. 

Then, since they are not strong enough to compete with us in knowledge. 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH. 



227 



Neither should they desire taxes or tribute from this land and country : 
Rather ought we to receive tribute from you, 
Since knowledge hath a title beyond all else." 

Khosru gave heart and ear to the speaker, 
And impressed on his memory the words which he heard. 
They placed the chessboard before the King, 
Who gazed attentively at the pieces a considerable time. 
Half the pieces on the board were of brilliant ivory, 
The other half of finely imaged teak-wood. 
The nicely-observant King questioned him much 
About the figures of the pieces and the beautiful board. 
The Indian said in answer : " O thou great Monarch, 
All the modes and customs of war thou wilt see, 
When thou shalt have found out the way to the game ; 
The plans, the marches, the array of the battle-field." 
He replied : " I shall require the space of seven days ; 
On the eighth we will encounter thee with a glad mind." 
They furnished forthwith a pleasant apartment. 
And assigned it to the Ambassador as his dwelling. 

Then the Mubid and the skilful to point out the way 

Repaired with one purpose to the presence of the King. 

They placed the chessboard before them. 

And observed it attentively, time without measure. 

They sought out and tried every method, 

And played against one another in all possible ways. 

One spoke and questioned, and another listened. 

But no one succeeded in making out the game. • 

They departed, each one with wrinkles on his brow ; 

And Buzarchamahar went forthwith to the king. 

He perceived that he was ruffled and stern about this matter, 

And in its beginning foresaw an evil ending. 

Then he said to Khosru : " O Sovereign, 

Master of the world, vigilant, and worthy to command, 

I will reduce to practice this noble game ; 

All my intelligence will I exert to point out the way." 

Then the king said : " This affair is thine affair ; 

Go thou about it with a clear mind and a sound body, 

Otherwise the Raja of Kanuj would say, 

* He hath not one man who can search out the road,' 

And this would bring foul disgrace on my Mubids, 

On my court, on my throne, and on all my wise men." 

Then Buzarchmahar made them place the chessboard before him, 

And seated himself, full of thought, and expanded his countenance. 

He sought out various ways, and moved the pieces to the right hand and 

to the left. 
In order that he might discover the position of every piece. 
When after a whole day and a whole night, he had found out the game, 



228 NATIONAL EPICS. 

He hurried from his own pavilion to that of the King, 

And exclaimed : " O King, whom Fortune crowneth with victory, 

At last I have made out these figures and this chessboard, 

By a happy chance, and by the favor of the Ruler of the world, 

The mystery of this game hath found its solution. 

Call before thee the Ambassador and all who care about it ; 

But the King of kings ought to be the first to behold it. 

You would say at once without hesitation, 

It is the exact image of a battle-field." 

The King was right glad to hear the news ; 

He pronounced him the Fortunate, and the bearer of good tidings. 

He commanded that the Mubids, and other counsellors, 

And all who were renowned for their wisdom should be assembled ; 

And ordered that the Ambassador should be summoned to the Presence, 

And that he should be placed on a splendid throne. 

Then Buzarchamahar, addressing him, said : 
" O Mubid, bright in council as the sun. 
Tell us, what said the King about these pieces, 
So may intelligence be coupled with thee forever ! " 

And this was his answer : " My Master, prosperous in his undertakings. 

When I was summoned and appeared before him. 

Said to me : ' These pieces of teak and ivory 

Place before the throne of him who weareth tlie crown, 

And say to him : Assemble thy Mubids and counsellors. 

And seat them, and place the pieces before them. 

If they succeed in making out the noble game. 

They will win applause and augment enjoyment : 

Then slaves and money and tribute and taxes, 

I will send to him as far as I have the means ; 

For a monarch is to be esteemed for his wisdom, 

Not for his treasure, or his men, or his lofty throne. 

But if the King and his counsellors are not able to do all this 

And their minds are not bright enough to comprehend it. 

He ought not to desire from us tribute or treasure. 

And his wise soul, alas ! must come to grief ; 

And when he seeth our minds and genius to be subtler than theirs, 

Rather will he send them to us in greater abundance.' " 

Then Buzarchamahar brought the chess-men and board, 

And placed them before the throne of the watchful King, 

And said to the Mubids and counsellors : 

" O ye illustrious and pure-hearted sages, 

Give ear all of you to the words he hath uttered, 

And to the observations of his prudent chief." 

Then the knowing-man arranged a battle-field, 
Giving to the King the place in the centre ; 
Right and left he drew up the army, 
Placing the foot-soldiers in front of the battle. 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH. 229 

A prudent vizier he stationed beside the King, 

To give him advice on the plan of the engagement ; 

On each side he set the elephants of war [our bishops], 

To support one another in the midst of the combat. 

Further on he assigned their position to the war-steeds [our knights], 

Placing upon each a horseman eager for battle. 

Lastly, right and left, at the extremities of the field, 

He stationed the heroes [the rooks] as rivals to each other. 

When Buzarchamahar had thus drawn up the army, 

The whole assembly was lost in astonishment ; 

But the Indian Ambassador was exceedingly grieved, 

And stood motionless at the sagacity of that Fortune-favored man ; 

Stupefied with amazement, he looked upon him as a magician, 

And his whole soul was absorbed in his reflections. 

" For never hath he seen," he said, "a chessboard before, 

Nor ever hath he heard about it from the experienced men of India. 

I have told him nothing of the action of these pieces, 

Not a word have I said about this arrangement and purpose. 

How then hath the revelation come down upon him ? 

No one in the world will ever take his place ! " 

And Khosru was so proud of Buzarchamahar, 

Thou mightest say that he was looking Fortune in the face. 

He was gladdened at his heart, and loaded him with caresses, 

And ordered him a more than ordinary dress of honor, 

And commanded him to be given a royal cup 

Filled to the brim with princely jewels, 

And a quantity of money, and a charger and a saddle, 

And dismissed him from the Presence overwhelmed with praises. 

Robinson's Translation. 



ZAL AND RUDABEH. 

" Zal, recovered from the care of the Simurgh and arrived at 
manhood, is sent to govern the frontier province of Zabul ; the 
adjoining province of Kabul, though tributary to the Persian 
emperor, being governed by its own king, called Mihrab. This 
episode commences with a visit which Mihrab pays to Zal, who 
receives him with distinguished honor, entertains him at a sump- 
tuous banquet, and they separate with mutual respect." 

Then a chief of the great ones around him 

Said : " O thou, the hero of the world, 

This Mihrab hath a daughter behind the veil, 

Whose face is more resplendent than the sun ; 

From head to foot pure as ivory, 

With a cheek like the spring, and in stature like the teak-tree. 



230 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



" Upon her silver shoulders descend two musky tresses, 

Which, like nooses, fetter the captive ; 

Her lip is like the pomegranate, and her cheek like its flower ; 

Her eyes resemble the narcissus in the garden ; 

Her eyelashes have borrowed the blackness of the raven ; 

Her eyebrows are arched like a fringed bow. 

Wouldst thou behold the mild radiance of the moon ? Look upon her 

countenance ! 
Wouldst thou inhale delightful odors ? She is all fragrance ! 
She is altogether a paradise of sweets. 
Decked with all grace, all music, all thou canst desire ! 
She would be fitting for thee, O warrior of the world j 
She is as the heavens above to such as we are." 

When Zal heard this description, 

His love leaped to the lovely maiden : 

His heart boiled over w^ith the heat of passion. 

So that understanding and rest departed from him. 

Night came, but he sat groaning, and buried in thought, 

And a prey to sorrow for the not-yet-seen. 

On returning from a second visit., Mihrab describes Zal to his -wife and 
his daughter Rtidabeh. 

" O beautiful silver-bosomed cypress. 

In the wide world not one of the heroes 

Will come up to the measure of Zal ! 

In the pictured palace men will never behold the image 

Of a warrior so strong, or so firm in the saddle. 

He hath the heart of a lion, the power of an elephant, 

And the strength of his arm is as the rush of the Nile. 

When he sitteth on the throne, he scattereth gold before him ; 

In the battle, the heads of his enemies. 

His cheek is as ruddy as the flower of the arghavan ; 

Young in years, all alive, and the favorite of fortune ; 

And though his hair is white as though with age, 

Yet in his bravery he could tear to pieces the water-serpent. 

" He rageth in the conflict with the fury of the crocodile, 
He fighteth in the saddle like a sharp-fanged dragon. 
In his wrath he staineth the earth with blood, 
Ashe wieldeth his bright scimitar around him. 
And though his hair is as white as is a fawn's, 
In vain would the fault-finder seek another defect ! 
Nay, the whiteness of his hair even becometh him ; 
Thou wouldst say that he is bom to beguile all hearts ! " 

When Rudabeh heard this description, 

Her heart was set on fire, and her cheek crimsoned like the pomegranate. 

Her whole soul was filled with the love of Zal, 

And food, and peace, and quietude were driven far from her. 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAME H 231 

After a time Rudabeh resolves to reveal her passion to her attendants. 

Then she said to her prudent slaves : 

" I will discover what I have hitherto concealed ; 

Ye are each of you the depositaries of my secrets, 

My attendants, and the partners of my griefs. 

I am agitated with love like the raging ocean, 

Whose billows are heaved to the sky. 

My once bright heart is filled with the love of Zal ; 

My sleep is broken with thoughts of him. 

My soul is perpetually filled with my passion ; 

Night and day my thoughts dwell upon his countenance. 

" Not one except yourselves knoweth my secret ; 

Ye, my affectionate and faithful servants, 

What remedy can ye now devise for my ease ? 

What will ye do for me ? What promise will ye give me ? 

Some remedy ye must devise. 

To free my heart and soul from this unhappiness." 

Astonishment seized the slaves, 

That dishonor should come nigh the daughter of kings. 

In the anxiety of their hearts they started from their seats, 

And all gave answer with one voice : 

" O crown of the ladies of the earth ! 

Maiden pre-eminent amongst the pre-eminent! 

Whose praise is spread abroad from Hindustan to China ; 

The resplendent ring in the circle of the harem ; 

Whose stature surpasseth every cypress in the garden ; 

Whose cheek rivalleth the lustre of the Pleiades ; 

Whose picture is sent by the ruler of Kanuj 

Even to the distant monarchs of the West — 

Have you ceased to be modest in your own eyes ? 

Have you lost all reverence for your father. 

That whom his own parent cast from his bosom, 

Him will you receive into yours ? 

A man who was nurtured by a bird in the mountains ! 

A man who was a by-word amongst the people ! 

You — with your roseate countenance and musky tresses — 

Seek a man whose hair is already white with age ! 

You — who have filled the world with admiration. 

Whose portrait hangeth in every palace, 

And whose beauty, and ringlets, and stature are such 

That you might draw down a husband from the skies ! " 

To this remonstrance she makes the following indignant answer: 

When Rudabeh heard their reply. 
Her heart blazed up like fire before the wind. 
She raised her voice in anger against them, 
Her face flushed, but she cast down her eyes. 



232 NATIONAL EPICS. 

After a time, grief and anger mingled in her countenance, 

And knitting her brows with passion, she exclaimed : 

" O unadvised and worthless counsellors, 

It was not becoming in me to ask your advice ! 

Were my eye dazzled by a star, 

How could it rejoice to gaze even upon the moon? 

He who is formed of worthless clay will not regard the rose. 

Although the rose is in nature more estimable than clay ! 

I wish not for Caesar, nor Emperor of China, 

Nor for any one of the tiara-crowned monarchs of Iran ; 

The son of Saum, Zal, alone is my equal. 

With his lion-like limbs, and arms, and shoulders. 

You may call him, as you please, an old man. or a young ; 

To me, he is in the room of heart and of soul. 

Except him never shall any one have a place in my heart ; 

Mention not to me any one except him. 

Him hath my love chosen unseen. 

Yea, hath chosen him only from description. 

For him is my affection, not for face or hair ; 

And I have sought his love in the way of honor." 

The slaves speak. 

" May hundreds of thousands such as we are be a sacrifice for thee ; 

May the wisdom of the creation be thy worthy portion ; 

May thy dark narcissus-eye be ever full of modesty ; 

May thy cheek be ever tinged with bashfulness ! 

If it be necessary to learn the art of the magician, 

To sew up the eyes with the bands of enchantment, 

We will fly till we surpass the enchanter's bird, 

We will run like the deer in search of a remedy. 

Perchance we may draw the King nigh unto his moon, 

And place him securely at thy side." 

The vermil lip of Rudabeh was filled with smiles ; 

She turned her saffron-tinted countenance toward the slave, and said ; 

" If thou shalt bring this matter to a happy issue. 

Thou hast planted for thyself a stately and fruitful tree, 

Which every day shall bear rubies for its fruit. 

And shall pour that fruit into thy lap." 

77/1? slaves arrange an interview between the lovers. 

Then said the elegant cypress-formed lady to her maidens : 

" Other than this were once your words and your counsel ! 

Is this then the Zal, the nursling of a bird ? 

This the old man, white-haired and withered ? 

Now his cheek is ruddy as the flower of the arghavan ; 

His stature is tall, his face beautiful, his presence lordly ! 

Ye have exalted my charms before him ; 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH 233 

Ye have spoken and made me a bargain ! " 

She said, and her lips were full of smiles, 

But her cheek crimsoned like the bloom of pomegranate. 

The interview takes place in a private pavilion of the princess. 

When from a distance the son of the valiant Saum 

Became visible to the illustrious maiden, 

She opened her gem-like lips, and exclaimed : 

" Welcome, thou brave and happy youth ! 

The blessing of the Creator of the v*rorld be upon thee ; 

On him who is the father of a son like thee ! 

May destiny ever favor thy wishes ! 

May the vault of heaven be the ground thou walkest on ! 

The dark night is turned into day by thy countenance ; 

The world is soul-enlivened by the fragrance of thy presence ! 

Thou hast travelled hither on foot from thy palace ; 

Thou hast pained, to behold me, thy royal footsteps ! " 

When the hero heard the voice from the battlement, 
He looked up and beheld a face resplendent as the sun, 
Irradiating the terrace like a flashing jewel, 
And brightening the ground like a flaming ruby. 

Then he replied : " O thou who sheddest the mild radiance of the moon, 
The blessing of Heaven, and mine, be upon thee ! 
How many nights hath cold Arcturus beholden me, 
Uttering my cry to God, the Pure, 
And beseeching the Lord of the universe, 
That he would vouchsafe to unveil thy countenance before me ! 
Now I am made joyful in hearing thy voice, 
In listening to thy rich and gracious accents. 
But seek, I pray thee, some way to thy presence ; 

For what converse can we hold, I on the ground, and thou on the ter- 
race ? " 

The Peri-faced maiden heard the words of the hero; 

Quickly she unbound her auburn locks, 

Coil upon coil, and serpent upon serpent ; 

And she stooped and dropped down the tresses from the battlement, 

And cried : " O hero, child of heroes, 

Take now these tresses, they belong to thee, 

And I have cherished them that they might prove an aid to my beloved." 

And Zal gazed upward at the lovely maiden. 

And stood amazed at the beauty of her hair and of her countenance ; 

He covered the musky ringlets with his kisses, 

And his bride heard the kisses from above. 

Then he exclaimed : " That would not be right — 

May the bright sun never shine on such a day ! 

It were to lay my hand on the life of one already distracted ; 



234 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



It were to plunge the arrow-point into my own wounded bosom." 

Then he took his noose from his boy, and made a running knot, 

And threw it, and caught it on the battlement, 

And held his breath, and at one bound 

Sprang from the ground, and reached the summit. 

As soon as the hero stood upon the terrace, 

The Peri-faced maiden ran to greet him, 

And took the hand of the hero in her own. 

And they went like those who are overcome with wine. 

Then he descended from the lofty gallery, 

His hand in the hand of the tall princess, 

And came to the door of the gold-painted pavilion, 

And entered that royal assembly. 

Which blazed with light like the bowers of Paradise ; 

And the slaves stood like houris before them : 

And Zal gazed in astonishment 

On her face, and her hair, and her stately form, and on all that splendor. 

And Zal was seated in royal pomp 

Opposite that mildly-radiant beauty ; 

And Rudabeh could not rest from looking towards him. 

And gazing upon him with all her eyes ; 

On that arm, and shoulder, and that splendid figure, 

On the brightness of that soul-enlightening countenance ; 

So that the more and more she looked 

The more and more was her heart inflamed. 

Then he kissed and embraced her, renewing his vows — 

Can the lion help pursuing the wild ass ? — 

And said : " O sweet and graceful silver-bosomed maiden, 

It may not be, that, both of noble lineage, 

We should do aught unbecoming our birth ; 

For from Saum Nariman I received an admonition. 

To do no unworthy deed, lest evil should come of it ; 

For better is the seemly than the unseemly, 

That which is lawful than that which is forbidden. 

And I fear that Manuchahar, when he shall hear of this affair, 

Will not be inclined to give it his approval ; 

I fear, too, that Saum will exclaim against it. 

And will boil over with passion, and lay his hand upon me. 

Yet, though soul and body are precious to all men. 

Life will I resign, and clothe myself with a shroud — 

And this I swear by the righteous God — 

Ere I will break the faith which I have pledged thee. 

I will bow myself before Him, and offer my adoration, 

And supplicate Him as those who worship Him in truth, 

That He will cleanse the heart of Saum, king of the earth. 



235 



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH. 

From opposition, and rage, and rancor. 

Perhaps the Creator of the world may listen to my prayer, 

And thou mayest yet be publicly proclaimed my wife." 

And Rudabeh said : " And I also, in the presence of the righteous God, 

Take the same pledge, and swear to thee my faith ; 

And He who created the world be witness to my words, 

That no one but the hero of the world, 

The throned, the crowned, the far-famed Zal, 

Will I ever permit to be sovereign over me." 

So their love every moment became greater ; 

Prudence was afar, and passion was predominant, 

Till the gray dawn began to show itself, 

And the drum to be heard from the royal pavilion. 

Then Zal bade adieu to the fair one ; 

His soul was darkened, and his bosom on fire, 

And the eyes of both were filled with tears ; 

And they lifted up their voices against the sun : 

" O glory of the universe, why come so quick ? 

Couldst thou not wait one little moment ? " 

Then Zal cast his noose on a pinnacle, 

And descended from those happy battlements, 

As the sun was rising redly above the mountains, 

And the bands of warriors were gathering in their ranks. 

Robinso7i's Translation. 



THE POEM OF THE CID. 



RODRIGO Ruy Diaz, El Cid Campeador, was bom 
near Burgos, in Spain, about 1040. The name Cid 
was given him by the Moors, and means lord. Campeador 
means champion. 

Ruy Diaz was the trusty lord of Sancho, King of Castile, 
who at his death divided his kingdom among his children. 
He then espoused the cause of the eldest son, Sancho, and 
assisted him in wresting their portion of the kingdom from 
his brothers Garcia and Alfonso. Sancho having been 
treacherously slain while besieging his sister Urraca's town 
of Zamora, the Cid attached himself to Alfonso, humiliating 
him, however, by making him and his chief lords swear that 
they had had no hand in Sancho's death. For this, Alfonso 
revenged himself by exiling the Cid on the slightest pretexts, 
recalling him only when his services were needed in the 
defence of the country. 

This much, and the Cid's victories over the Moors, his 
occupation of Valencia, and his army's departure therefrom 
in 1 102, led by his corpse seated on horseback, " clothed in 
his habit as he lived ", are historical facts. 

A great mass of romances, among them the story of his 
slaying Count Don Gomez because he had insulted his 
father, Diego Laynez; of Don Gomez's daughter Ximena 
wooing and wedding him ; of his assisting the leper and 
having his future success foretold by him, and of his 
embalmed body sitting many years in the cathedral at 
Toledo, are related in the " Chronicle of the Cid " and the 
" Ballads." 



238 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



The Poem of the Cid narrates only a portion of his career, 
and "if it had been named," says Ormsby, "would have 
been called 'The Triumph of the Cid.' " 

The Poem of the Cid was written about 1200 a. d. Its 
authorship is unknown. 

It contains three thousand seven hundred and forty-five 
lines, and is divided into two cantares. The versification is 
careless ; when rhyme hampered the poet he dropped it, and 
used instead the assonant rhyme. 

The Poem of the Cid is of peculiar interest because it be- 
longs to the very dawn of our modern literature, and because 
its hero was evidently a real personage, a portion of whose 
history was recorded in this epic not long after the events 
took place. The Cid is one of the most simple and natural 
of the epic heroes ; he has all a man's weaknesses, and it is 
difficult to repress a smile at the perfectly natural manner in 
which, while he slaughters enough Moors to secure himself a 
place in the heavenly kingdom, he takes good care to lay up 
gold for the enjoyment of hfe on earth. The poem is told 
with the greatest simplicity, naturalness, and directness, as 
well as with much poetic fire. 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Cid. Robert Southey's 
Chronicle of the Cid. . . . Appendix contains Poetry of 
the Cid by J. H. Frere, 1808, new ed., 1845 ; Matthew 
Arnold's Poem of the Cid, MacMillan, 1871, vol. xxiv., pp. 
471-485; George Dennio's The Cid: A short Chronicle 
founded on the early Poetry of Spain, 1845 ; Butler Clarke's 
The Cid (in his Spanish Literature, 1893, pp. 46-53) ; E. E. 
Hale and Susan Hale's The Cid (in their Story of Spain, 
1893, pp. 248-261) ; Stanley Lane Poole's The Cid (in his 
Story of the Moors in Spain, 1891, pp. 191-213) ; Sismondi's 
Poem of the Cid (in his Literature of the South of Europe, 
1884, vol. ii.,pp- 95-140) ; George Ticknor's Poem of the 
Cid (in his History of Spanish Literature, ed. 6, 1 893, vol. i., 
pp. 12-26); W. T. Dobson's Classic Poets, 1879, pp. 35- 
^Z^) ') J- G. von Herder's Der Cid, nach spanischen Ro-, 
manzen besungen (in his works, 1852, vol. xiv.), translated. 



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID. 



239 



Standard English Translations, the Poem of the 
CiD. The Poem of the Cid, Tr. by John Ormsby, 1879 j 
Translations from the Poem of the Cid by John Hookam 
Frere (in his works, 1872, vol. ii., p. 409) ; Ballads of the 
Cid, Tr. by Lewis Gerard, 1883 ; Ancient Spanish Ballads, 
Tr. by John Gibson Lockhart, 1823. 



240 NATIONAL EPICS. 



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID. 

Tears stood in the eyes of the Cid as he looked at his pil- 
laged castle. The coffers were empty, even the falcons were 
gone from their perches. *' Cruel wrong do I suffer from 
mine enemy ! " he exclaimed as they rode into Burgos. 
" Alvar Fanez, of a truth we are banished men." 

From the windows of Burgos town the burghers and their 
dames looked down with tearful eyes upon the Cid and his 
sixty lances. " Would that his lord were worthy of him," 
said they. 

He rode up to the gates of his house in Burgos ; the king's 
seal was upon them. "My lord," cried a damsel from an 
upper casement, " thy goods are forfeited to the king, and he 
has forbidden that we open door or shelter thee upon pain 
of forfeiture of our goods, yea, even of our sight ! " 

Little hope then had the Cid of mercy from King Alfonso ; 
and sooner than bring suffering on his beloved people of 
Burgos he betook himself without the city and sat him down 
to think of what to do. " Martin Antolinez," said he, " I 
have no money with which to pay my troops. Thou must 
help me to get it, and if I live I will repay thee double." 

Then the two together fashioned two stout chests covered 
with red leather and studded with gilt nails, and these they 
filled with sand. Then Martin Antolinez without delay sought 
out the money lenders, Rachel and Vidas, and bargained 
with them to lend the Cid six hundred marks, and take in 
pawn for them the two chests filled with treasure that he 
dared not at that time take away with him. For a year 
they were to keep the chests and pledge themselves not to 
look in them. Glad were the hearts of the moneylenders as 
they lifted the heavy chests, and happy was the Cid when he 
saw the six hundred marks counted out before him. 

Seeking the monastery of San Pedro de Cardena, the Cid 
embraced his wife Ximena and his two daughters, and left 



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID. 241 

them in the protection of the abbot, to whom he promised 
recompense. Hard was the pain of parting as when the 
finger nail is torn away from the flesh, but a banished man 
has no choice. And as they passed the night at Higeruela 
a sweet vision promising success comforted the Cid in his 
slumbers ; and many from Castile, who heard of the departure 
of the hero, sought his banners to better their fortune. 

Next day the Cid and his men took Castejon and sold 
the spoil to the Moors of Hita and Guadalajara, and then 
my Cid passed on and planted himself upon a lofty and 
strong hill opposite Alcocer, and levied tribute upon the 
neighboring peoples. When he had so besieged Alcocer for 
fifteen weeks he took it by stratagem, and Pero Bermuez, the 
slow of speech, planted his standard on the highest part. 
When the King of Valencia heard of this, he determined to 
capture my Cid, and accordingly sent three thousand Moors 
to lay siege to Alcocer. 

When the water was cut off and bread became scarce, the 
six hundred Spanish men, acting upon the advice of Minaya, 
took the field against the three thousand Moors ; and such 
was the valor of him that in a good liour was born, and of 
his standard bearer, Pero Bermuez, and of the good Minaya, 
that the Moors fell to the ground three hundred at a time, 
their shields shivered, their mail riven, their white pennons 
red with blood. 

" Thanks be to God for victory ! " said the Cid. In the 
Moorish king's camp was found great spoil, — shields, arms, 
and horses. Greatly the Christians rejoiced, for to them fell 
much spoil, and but fifteen of their men were missing. Even 
to the Moors my Cid gave some of his spoil, and from his 
share of one hundred horses he sent by Minaya thirty, sad- 
dled and bridled, with as many swords hung at the saddle 
bows, to King Alfonso. Also he sent by him a wallet of gold 
and silver for his wife and daughters, and to pay for a thou- 
sand Masses at Burgos. 

Alfonso was well pleased to receive this token. " It is 
too soon to take him into favor, but I will accept his present, 
and I am glad he won the victory. Minaya, I pardon thee ; 

16 



242 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



go to the Cid and say that I will permit any valiant man who 
so desires to follow him." 

Upon the hill now called the hill of the Cid, he who girt 
on the sword in a good hour, took up his abode and levied 
tribute on the people for fifteen weeks. But when he saw 
that Minaya's return was delayed, he went even unto Sara- 
gossa, levying tribute and doing much damage, insomuch 
that the Count of Barcelona, Raymond de Berenger, was 
provoked into making an assault upon him in the Pine 
Wood of Bivar, where he was ingloriously defeated and 
taken prisoner. The count was the more shamed at this 
because my Cid had sent him a friendly message, saying that 
he did not want to fight him, since he owed him no grudge. 
When Count Raymond had given up his precious sword, the 
great Colada, the good one of Bivar endeavored to make 
friends with his prisoner, but to no avail. The count re- 
fused meat and drink, and was determined to die, until the 
Cid assured him that as soon as he ate a hearty meal he 
should go free. Then he departed joyfully from the camp, 
fearing even to the last lest the Cid should change his mind, 
a thing the perfect one never would have done. 

Cheered by this conquest, the Cid turned to Valencia, 
and met a great Moorish army, which was speedily defeated, 
the Cid's numbers having been greatly increased by men who 
flocked to him from Spain. Two Moorish kings were slain, 
and the survivors were pursued even to Valencia. Then 
my Cid sat down before the city for nine months, and in the 
tenth month Valencia surrendered. The spoil — who could 
count it ? All were rich who accompanied the Cid, and his 
fifth was thirty thousand marks in money, besides much 
other spoil. And my Cid's renown spread throughout Spain. 
Wonderful was he to look upon, for his beard had grown 
very long. For the love of King Alfonso, who had banished 
him, he said it should never be cut, nor a hair of it be 
plucked, and it should be famous among Moors and Chris- 
tians. Then he again called Minaya to him, and to King 
Alfonso sent a hundred horses, with the request that his wife^ 
and daughters might be allowed to join him. Also he sent 



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID. 243 

him word that he had been joined by a good bishop, Don 
Jerome, and had created for him a bishopric. 

Now were the enemies of the good one of Bivar incensed 
in proportion as the king was pleased with this noble gift. 
And when the king silenced the envious ones, and ordered 
an escort for Ximena and her daughters, and treated Minaya 
with consideration, the Infantes of Carrion talked together, 
commenting on the growing importance of my Cid. " It 
would better our fortunes to marry his daughters, but they 
are below us in rank." And so saying they sent their salu- 
tations to the Cid. 

The Cid met his wife and daughters on his new horse, 
Babieca, the wonder of all Spain, and great was his joy to 
clasp them again in his arms. And he took them up in the 
highest part of Valencia, and their bright eyes looked over 
the city and the sea, and they all thanked God for giving 
them so fair a prize. 

When winter was past and spring had come, the King of 
Morocco crossed the sea to Valencia with fifty thousand 
men, and pitched his tents before the city. Then the Cid 
took his wife and daughters up in the Alcazar, and showed 
them the vast army. " They bring a gift for us, a dowry 
against the marriage of our daughters. Because ye are here, 
with God's help, I shall win the battle." 

He went forth on the good Babieca ; four thousand less 
thirty followed him to attack the fifty thousand Moors. The 
Cid's arms dripped with blood to the elbow ; the Moors he 
slew could not be counted. King Yucef himself he smote 
three times, and only the swiftness of the horse he rode 
saved the king from death. All fled who were not slain, 
leaving the spoil behind. Three thousand marks of gold 
and silver were found there, and the other spoil was countless. 
Then my Cid ordered Minaya and Pero Bermuez to take to 
Alfonso the great tent of the King of Morocco, and two 
hundred horses. And the king was greatly pleased, and the 
Infantes of Carrion, counselling together, said, "The fame 
of the Cid grows greater; let us ask his daughters in mar- 
riage." And the king gave their request to Minaya and 
Bermuez, who were to bear it to the Cid. 



244 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Said my Cid, when he heard the proposal : "The Infantes 
of Carrion are haughty, and have a faction in court. I have 
no taste for the match ; but since my king desires it, I will 
be silent." 

When the king heard his answer, he appointed a meeting, 
and when he that in a good hour was born saw his king, he 
fell at his feet to pay him homage. But the king said : 
" Here do I pardon you, and grant you my love from this 
day forth." 

The next day when the king presented to the Cid the offer 
of the Infantes, my Cid replied : " My daughters are not of 
marriageable age, but I and they are in your hands. Give 
them as it pleases you." Then the king commissioned Alvar 
Fanez to act for him and give the daughters of my Cid to 
the Infantes. 

The Cid hastened home to prepare for the wedding. The 
palace was beautifully decorated with hangings of purple and 
samite. Rich were the garments of the Infantes, and meek 
their behavior in the presence of my Cid. The couples 
were wedded by the Bishop Don Jerome, and the wedding 
festivities lasted for fifteen days. And for wellnigh two 
years the Cid and his sons-in-law abode happily in Valencia. 

One day while my Cid was lying asleep in his palace, a 
lion broke loose from its cage, and all the court were sore 
afraid. The Cid's followers gathered around his couch to 
protect him ; but Ferran Gonzalez crept beneath the couch, 
crying from fear, and Diego ran into the court and threw 
himself across a wine-press beam, so that he soiled his man- 
tle. The Cid, awakened by the noise, arose, took the lion 
by the mane, and dragged him to his cage, to the astonish- 
ment of all present. Then my Cid asked for his sons-in-law, 
and when they were found, pale and frightened, the whole 
court laughed at ihem until my Cid bade them cease. And 
the Infantes were deeply insulted. 

While they were still sulking over their injuries, King Bu- 
car of Morocco beleagured Valencia with fifty thousand 
tents. The Cid and his barons rejoiced at the thought 
of battle ; but the Infantes were sore afraid, for they were 



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID. 



245 



cowards, and feared to be slain in battle. The Cid told 
them to remain in Valencia ; but stung by shame they went 
forth with Bermuez, who reported that both had fleshed 
their swords in battle with the Moor. 

Great was the slaughter of the Moors on that field. Alvar 
Fanez, Minaya, and the fighting bishop came back dripping 
with gore, and as for my Cid, he slew King Bucar himself, 
and brought home the famous sword, Tizon, worth full a 
thousand marks in gold. 

The Infantes, still wrathful at their humiliation, talked 
apart : " Let us take our wealth and our wives and return to 
Carrion. Once away from the Campeador, we will punish 
his daughters, so that we shall hear no more of the affair of 
the lion. With the wealth we have gained from the Cid 
we can now wed whom we please.'' 

Sore was the heart of the Cid when he heard of their 
determination ; but he gave them, rich gifts, and also the 
priceless swords Colada and Tizon. '' I won them in 
knightly fashion," said he, " and I give them to you, for ye 
are my sons, since I gave you my daughters ; in them ye take 
the core of my heart." He ordered Feliz Munoz, his 
nephew, to accompany them as an escort, and sent them by 
way of Molina to salute his friend, Abengalvon the Moor. 

The Moor received them in great state, and escorted 
them as far as the Salon ; but when he overheard the Infantes 
plotting to destroy him, and seize his substance, he left them 
in anger. At night the Infantes pitched their tents in an 
oak forest full of tall trees, among which roamed fierce 
beasts. During the night they made a great show of love 
to their wives, and the next morning ordered the escort to 
go on, saying that they would follow alone. As soon as 
they were alone they stripped the daughters of the Cid of 
their garments, beat them with their saddle-girths and spurs, 
and left them for dead in the wild forest. " Now we are 
avenged for the dishonor of the hon," said they, as they de- 
parted for Carrion. But Feliz Munoz, w^ho had suspected 
the Infantes, had gone forward but a little way, and then 
crept back, so that from a thicket he perceived the sufferings 



246 NATIONAL EPICS. 

of his cousins. Straightway he went to their rescue, found 
them clothes, and helped them home again. 

When the Cid heard of this insult to himself and his daugh- 
ters, he grasped his beard and swore a mighty oath that the 
Infantes would rue the day when they had thus offended 
him. All of the Cid's friends strove to comfort the ladies 
Elvira and Sol, and Abengalvon the Moor made them a rich 
supper for love of the Cid. 

At the request of my Cid, King Alfonso summoned a 
Cortes at Toledo, to try the cause of the Cid and the In- 
fantes. Thither went the Cid, richly clad, so that all men 
wondered at his rich garments, his long hair in a scarlet and 
gold coif, and his uncut beard bound up with cords. He 
and his hundred men wore bright hauberks under their 
ermines, and trenchant swords under their mantles, for they 
feared treachery. 

The king appointed some of his counts as judges, and 
announced that he held this, the third Cortes of his reign, 
for the love of the Cid. Then my Cid stood forth. 

^' I am not dishonored because the Infantes deserted my 
daughters," said the Cid, " for the king gave them away, not 
I ; but I demand my swords, Colada and Tizon. When my 
lords of Carrion gave up my daughters they relinquished all 
claims to my property." 

The Infantes, well pleased that he demanded no more, 
returned the swords ; and when the blades were unsheathed 
and placed in the hands of the king, the eyes of the court 
were dazzled by their brightness. 

The Cid presented Tizon to his nephew and Colada to 
Martin Antolinez. " Now, my king, I have another griev- 
ance. I now demand that the Infantes restore the three 
thousand marks in gold and silver they carried from Va- 
lencia. When they ceased to be my sons-in-law they ceased 
to own my gold." Then the Infantes were troubled, for 
they had spent the money ; but the judges gave them no 
relief, and they were forced to pay it out of their heritage of 
Carrion. 

" So please your grace," said the Cid, " still another griev- 



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID. 247 

ance, the greatest of all, I have yet to state. I hold myself 
dishonored by the Infantes. Redress by combat they must 
yield, for I will take no other." 

The Count Garcia ridiculed the Cid's claim. " The noble 
lords of Carrion are of princely birth; your daughters are 
not fitting mates for them." Then, while his enemies were 
taunting him and the court broke into an uproar, the Cid 
called on Pero Bermuez, '' Dumb Peter," to speak. 

When Pero spoke he made himself clear. For the first 
time he told how like a craven Ferrando had demeaned him- 
self in battle, and how he himself had slain the Moor on 
whom the prince had turned his back. He also reminded 
Ferrando of the affair of the lion. When Diego attempted 
to speak, he was silenced by Martin Antolinez, who told of 
the figure he cut when he clung to the wine-press beam 
in an agony of fear, on the day the lion came forth from its 
cage. Then the king, commanding silence, gave them per- 
mission to fight. Martin Antolinez engaged to meet Diego, 
Pero Bermuez was to combat with Ferrando, and Muiio 
Gustioz challenged the brawler, Assur Gonzalez. It was 
agreed that the combat should be held at the end of three 
weeks in the vega of Carrion. 

When all had been arranged to his satisfaction, the Cid 
took off his coif, and released his beard, and all the court 
wondered at him. Then he offered some of his wealth to 
all present, and, kissing the king's hand, besought him to 
take Babieca. But this the king refused to do : " Babieca 
is for the like of you to keep the Moors off with. If I 
took him he would not have so good a lord." 

When the day for the combat arrived, the king himself 
went to Carrion to see that no treachery was used, and he 
said to the Infantes : '' Ye have need to fight like men. If 
ye come out successful, ye will receive great honor. If ye 
are vanquished, the fault will be on your own heads. Seek 
to do no wrong ; woe betide him who attempts it ! " 

Then the marshals placed the contestants in the lists and 
left them face to face. Each with his gaze fixed on the 
other, they rushed together and met midway of the lists. 



248 NATIONAL EPICS. 

At the thrust of Pero's lance, Ferrando fell from his horse 
and yielded, as he saw the dread Tizon held over him. At 
the same time Diego fled from the sword of Martin Anto- 
Hnez, and Muno Gustioz's lance pierced Assur Gonzalez, 
who begged him to hold his hand, since the Infantes were 
vanquished. 

Thus the battle was won, and Don Roderick's champions 
gained the victory. Great was the sorrow in the house of 
Carrion ; but he who wrongs a noble lady deserves such 
suffering. 

Rejoiced were they of Valencia when the champions 
brought home these tidings, and ere long, favored by Al- 
fonso himself, the princes of Navarre and Aragon wooed my 
Cid's daughters, and were married to them with the most 
splendid nuptials. Now was the Cid happy, and happier 
still he grew as his honor increased, until upon the feast of 
Pentecost he passed away. The grace of Christ be upon 
him ! 



SELECTIONS FROM THE POEM OF THE CID. 

Count Raymond and My Cid. 

After one of the victories over the Moors won by the Cid 
after his banishment by King Alfonso, he despatched a mes- 
senger to the king with a gift of thirty horses, and while awaiting 
his return, encamped in the Pine-wood of Tebar and levied 
tribute on the surrounding country. This information was con- 
veyed to the Count of Barcelona, Raymond Berenger, who pre- 
pared to march against the intruder. 

Great mustering there is of Moors and Christians through the land, 

A mighty host of men-at-arms he hath at his command. 

Two days, three nights, they march to seek the Good One of Bivar, 

To snare him where he harbors in the Pine-wood of Tebar ; 

And such the speed of their advance, that, cumbered with his spoils, 

And unaware, my Cid wellnigh was taken in the toils. 

The tidings reached my Cid as down the sierra side he went, 

Then straightway to Count Raymond he a friendly message sent : 



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID. 249 

" Say to the count that he, meseems, to me no grudge doth owe : 
Of him I take no spoil, with him in peace I fain would go." 
** Nay," said the count, "for all his deeds he hath to make amends : 
This outlaw must be made to know whose honor he offends." 
With utmost speed the messenger Count Raymond's answer brought ; 
Then of a surety knew my Cid a battle must be fought. 
" Now, cavaUers," quoth he, "make safe the booty we have won. 
Look to your weapons, gentlemen ; with speed your armor don. 
On battle bent Count Raymond comes ; a mighty host hath he 
Of Moors and Christians; fight we must if hence we would go free. 
Here let us fight our battle out, since fight we must perforce. 
On with your harness, cavaliers, quick ! saddle, and to horse ! 
Yonder they come, the linen breeks, all down the mountain side, 
For saddles they have Moorish pads, with slackened girths they ride : 
Our saddles are Galician make, our leggings tough and stout : 
A hundred of us gentlemen should scatter such a rout. 
Before they gain the level plain, home with the lance charge we. 
And then, for every blow we strike, we empty saddles three. 
Count Raymond Berenger shall know with whom he has to do ; 
And dearly in Tebar to-day his raid on me shall rue." 
In serried squadron while he speaks they form around my Cid. 
Each grasps his lance, and firm and square each sits upon his steed. 
Over against them down the hill they watch the Franks descend. 
On to the level ground below, where plain and mountain blend. 
Then gives my Cid the word to charge — with a good will they go : 
Fast ply the lances ; some they pierce, and some they overthrow. 
And he that in a good hour was born soon hath he won the field ; 
And the Count Raymond Berenger he hath compelled to yield; 
And reaping honor for his beard a noble prize hath made : 
A thousand marks of silver worth, the great Colada blade. 
Unto his quarters under guard the captive count he sent. 
While his men haste to gather in their spoils in high content. 
Then for my Cid Don Roderick a banquet they prepare ; 
But little doth Count Raymond now for feast or banquet care. 
They bring him meat and drink, but he repels them with disdain. 
" No morsel will I touch," said he, " for all the wealth of Spain. 
Let soul and body perish now ; life why should I prolong. 
Conquered and captive at the hands of such an ill-breeched throng ? " 
" Nay," said my Cid; " take bread and wine ; eat, and thou goest free; 
If not, thy realms in Christendom thou never more shalt see." 
" Go thou, Don Roderick." said the Count, " eat if thou wilt, but I 
Have no more lust for meat and drink : I only crave to die." 
Three days, while they the booty share, for all that they entreat, 
The Count his purpose holds imchanged, refusing still to eat. 
Then said my Cid, " I pray thee. Count, take food and trust to me; 
Thyself and two knights of thy train I promise to set free." 
Glad was Count Raymond in his heart when he the promise heard — 
" A marvel that will be, my Cid, if thou dost keep thy word." 
" Then, Count, take food, and when I see thy hunger satisfied, 
My word is pledged to let thee go, thyself and two beside. 



250 NATIONAL EPICS. 

But understand, one farthing's worth I render not again 

Of what has been in battle lost and won on yonder plain. 

I give not back the lawful spoils I fairly win in fight ; 

But for mine own and vassals' wants I hold them as my right. 

My followers are needy men ; I cannot if I would ; 

For spoil from thee and others won is all our livelihood. 

And such, while God's good will it is, must be our daily life, 

As outcasts forced to wander, with an angry king at strife." 

With lighter heart Count Raymond called for water for his hands, 

And then with his two gentlemen, sent by the Cid's commands, 

He blithely sat him down to meat : God ! with what gust ate he ! 

And glad was the Campeador such heartiness to see. 

Quoth he, " Until thou eat thy fill we part not, Count, to-day." 

" Nor loth am I," Count Raymond said, " such bidding to obey." 

So he and his two cavahers a hearty meal they made : 

It pleased my Cid to watch his hands, how lustily they played. 

" Now if thou wilt," Count Raymond said, " that we are satisfied, 

Bid them to lead the horses forth, that we may mount and ride. 

Never since I have been a Count have I yet broken fast 

With such a relish ; long shall I remember this repast." 

Three palfreys with caparisons of costly sort they bring, 

And on the saddles robes of fur and mantles rich they fling. 

Thus, with a knight on either hand, away Count Raymond rides ; 

While to the outposts of the camp his guests the Champion guides. 

" Now speed thee, Count ; ride on," quoth he, " a free Frank as thou art. 

For the brave spoil thou leavest me I thank thee from my heart ; 

And if to win it back again perchance thou hast a mind, 

Come thou and seek me when thou wilt ; I am not far to find. 

But if it be not to thy taste to try another day, 

Still, somewhat, be it mine or thine, thou earnest away." 

" Nay ! go in peace for me, my Cid : no more I seek of thee ; 

And thou, I think, for one year's space hast won enough of me.'' 

He spurred his steed, but, as he rode, a backward glance he bent, 

Still fearing to the last my Cid his promise would repent : 

A thing, the world itself to win, my Cid would not have done : 

No perfidy was ever found in him, the Perfect One. 

Ormsby's Translatmt. 



My Cid's Triumph. 

In the Cortes called by the King of Spain to hear the cause 
of the Cid, whose daughters had been shamefully treated and 
deserted by their husbands, the Infantes of Carrion, Ferran and 
Diego Gonzalez, the Cid demanded the restitution of his swords 
and of three thousand marks of gold and silver he had given" 
the Infantes. These being granted, the Cid spoke again: — 



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID. 



25 



*' So please your grace ! once more upon your clemency I call ; 

A grievance yet remains untold, the greatest grief of all. 

And let the court give ear, and weigh the wrong that hath been done. 

I hold myself dishonored by the lords of Carrion. 

Redress by combat they must yield ; none other will I take. 

How now, Infantes ! what excuse, what answer do ye make ? 

Why have ye laid my heartstrings bare ? In jest or earnest, say, 

Have I offended you ? and I will make amends to-day. 

My daughters in your hands I placed the day that forth ye went, 

And rich in wealth and honors from Valencia were you sent. 

Why did you carry with you brides ye loved not, treacherous curs ? 

Why tear their flesh in Corpes wood with saddle-girths and spurs, 

And leave them to the beasts of prey ? Villains throughout were ye ! 

What answer ye can make to this 'tis for the court to see." 

The Count Garcia was the first that rose to make reply. 

" So please ye, gracious king, of all the kings of Spain most high ; 

Strange is the guise in which my Cid before you hath appeared ; 

To grace your summoned court he comes, with that long straggling beard ; 

With awe struck dumb, methinks, are some ; some look as though they 

feared. 
The noble lords of Carrion of princely race are born ; 
To take the daughters of my Cid for lemans they should scorn; 
Much more for brides of equal birth : in casting them aside — 
We care not for his blustering talk — we hold them justified." 
Upstood the Champion, stroked his beard, and grasped it in his hands. 
" Thanks be to God above," he cried, " who heaven and earth commands, 
A long and lordly growth it is, my pleasure and my pride ; 
In this my beard, Garcia, say, what find you to deride? 
Its nurture since it graced my chin hath ever been my care ; 
No son of woman born hath dared to lay a finger there ; 
No son of Christian or of Moor hath ever plucked a hair. 
Remember Cabra, Count ! of thine the same thou canst not say: 
On both thy castle and thy beard I laid my hand that day : 
Nay ! not a groom was there but he his handful plucked away. 
Look, where my hand hath been, my lords, all ragged yet it grows ! " 
With noisy protest breaking in Ferran Gonzalez rose : 
" Cid, let there be an end of this ; your gifts you have again, 
And now no pretext for dispute between us doth remain. 
Princes of Carrion are we, with fitting brides we mate ; 
Daughters of emperors or kings, not squires of low estate : 
We brook not such alliances, and yours we rightly spurned." 
My Cid, Ruy Diaz, at the word, quick to Bermuez turned. 
" Now is the time. Dumb Peter, speak, O man that sittest mute! 
My daughters' and thy cousins' name and fame are in dispute ; 
To me they speak, to thee they look to answer every word. 
If I am left to answer now, thou canst not draw thy sword." 
Tongue-tied Bermuez stood, awhile he strove for words in vain, 
But, look you, when he once began he made his meaning plain. 
" Cid, first I have a word for you : you always are the same, 
In Cortes ever jibing me, ' Dumb Peter ' is the name : 



252 



NATIONAL EPICS, 



It never was a gift of mine, and that long since you knew ; 

But have you found me fail in aught that fell to me to do ? 

You lie, Ferrando ; lie in all you say upon that score. 

The honor was to you, not him, the Cid Campeador ; 

For I know something of your worth, and somewhat I can tell. 

That day beneath Valencia wall — you recollect it well — 

You prayed the Cid to place you in the forefront of the fray ; 

You spied a Moor, and valiantly you went that Moor to slay ; 

And then you turned and fled — for his approach, you would not stay. 

Right soon he would have taught you 'twas a sorry game to play, 

Had I not been in battle there to take your place that day. 

I slew him at the first onfall ; I gave his steed to you ; 

To no man have I told the tale from that hour hitherto. 

Before the Cid and all his men you got yourself a name. 

How you in single combat slew a Moor — a deed of fame ; 

And all believed in your exploit ; they wist not of your shame. 

You are a craven at the core ; tall, handsome, as you stand : 

How dare you talk as now you talk, you tongue without a hand? 

Again, Ferrando, call to mind — another tale for you — 

That matter of the lion ; it was at Valencia too. 

My Cid lay sleeping when you sav/ the unchained Hon near ; 

What did you do, Ferrando, then, in your agony of fear ? 

Low did you crouch behind the couch whereon the Champion lay : 
You did, Ferrando, and by that we rate your worth to-day. 

We gathered round to guard our lord, Valencia's conqueror. 

He rose, and to the lion went, the brave Campeador ; 

The lion fawned before his feet and let him grasp its mane ; 

He thrust it back into its cage; he turned to us again : 

His trusty vassals to a man he saw around him there : 

Where were his sons-in-law ? he asked, and none could tell him where. 

Now take thou my defiance as a traitor, trothless knight : 

Upon this plea before our King Alfonso will I fight ; 

The daughters of my lord are wronged, their wrong is mine to right. 

That ye those ladies did desert, the baser are ye then ; 

For what are they ? — weak women ; and what are ye ? — strong men. 

On every count I deem their cause to be the holier, 

And I will make thee own it when we meet in kettle here. 

Traitor thou shalt confess thyself, so help me God on high, 

And all that I have said to-day my sword shall verify." 

Thus far these two. Diego rose, and spoke as ye shall hear : 
" Counts by our birth are we, of stain our lineage is clear. 
In this alliance with my Cid there was no parity. 
If we his daughters cast aside, no cause for shame we see. 
And little need we care if they in mourning pass their lives, 
Enduring the reproach that clings to scorned rejected wives. 
In leaving them we but upheld our honor and our right, 
And ready to the death am I, maintaining this, to fight." 
Here Martin Antolinez sprang upon his feet : " False hound! 
Will you not silent keep that mouth where truth was never found? 
For you to boast ! the lion scare have you forgotten too ? 



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID. 253 

How through the open door you rushed, across the court-yard flew ; 

How sprawling in your terror on the wine-press beam you lay ? 

Ay ! never more, I trow, you wore the mantle of that day. 

There is no choice; the issue now the sword alone can try ; 

The daughters of my Cid ye spurned ; that must ye justify. 

On every count I here declare their cause the cause of right, 

And thou shalt own the treachery the day we join in fight." 

He ceased, and striding up the hall Assur Gonzalez passed ; 

His cheek was flushed with wine, for he had stayed to break his fast ; 

Ungirt his robe, and trailing low his ermine mantle hung ; 

Rude was his bearing to the court, and reckless was his tongue. 

" What a to-do is here, my lords ! was the like ever seen ? 

What talk is this about my Cid — him of Bivar, I mean ? 

To Riodouirna let him go to take his millers' rent. 

And keep his mills agoing there, as once he was content. 

He, forsooth, mate his daughters with the Counts of Carrion ! " 

Up started Mufio Gustioz: "False, foul-mouthed knave, have done! 

Thou glutton, wont to break thy fast without a thought of prayer, 

Whose heart is plotting mischief when thy lips are speaking fair; 

Whose plighted word to friend or lord hath ever proved a lie ; 

False always to thy fellow-man, falser to God on high. 

No share in thy good will I seek ; one only boon I pray, 

The chance to make thee own thyself the villain that I say." 

Then spoke the king : " Enough of words : ye have my leave to fight, 

The challenged and the challengers ; and God defend the right." 

The marshals leave them face to face and from the lists are gone ; 

Here stand the champions of my Cid, there those of Carrion; 

Each with his gaze intent and fixed upon his chosen foe, 

Their bucklers braced before their breasts, their lances pointing low, 

Their heads bent down, as each man leans above his saddle-bow. 

Then with one impulse every spur is in the charger's side, 

And earth itself is felt to shake beneath their furious stride; 

Till, midway meeting, three with three, in struggle fierce they lock, 

While all account them dead who hear the echo of the shock. 

Ferrando and his challenger, Pero Bermuez, close ; 

Firm are the lances held, and fair the shields receive the blows. 

Through Pero's shield Ferrando drove his lance, a bloodless stroke ; 

The point stopped short in empty space, the shaft in splinters broke. 

But on Bermuez, firm of seat, the shock fell all in vain ; 

And while ha took Ferrando's thrust he paid it back again. 

The armored buckler shattering, right home his lance he pressed, 

Driving the point through boss and plate against his foeman's breast. 

Three folds of mail Ferrando wore, they stood him in good stead; 

Two yielded to the lance's point, the third held fast the head. 

But forced into the flesh it sank a hand's breadth deep or more, 

Till bursting from the gasping lips in torrents gushed the gore. 

Then, the girths breaking, o'er the croup borne rudely to the ground, 

He lay, a dying man it seemed to all who stood around. 

Bermuez cast his lance aside, and sword in hand came on ; 



254 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Ferrando saw the blade he bore, he knew it was Tizon : 

Quick ere the dreaded brand could fall, " I yield me," came the cry. 

Vanquished the marshals granted him, and Pero let him lie. 

And Martin Antolinez and Diego — fair and true 
Each struck upon the other's shield, and wide the splinters flew. 
Then Antolinez seized his sword, and as he drew the blade, 
A dazzling gleam of burnished steel across the meadow played ; 
And at Diego striking full, athwart the helmet's crown, 
Sheer through the steel plates of the casque he drove the falchion down, 
Through coif and scarf, till from the scalp the locks it razed away, 
And half shorn off and half upheld the shattered head-piece lay. 
Reeling beneath the blow that proved Colada's cruel might, 
Diego saw no chance but one, no safety save in flight : 
He wheeled and fled, but close behind him Antolinez drew ; 
With the flat blade a hasty blow he dealt him as he flew ; 
But idle was Diego's sword ; he shrieked to Heaven for aid : 
" O God of glory, give me help ! save me from yonder blade ! " 
Unreined, his good steed bore him safe and swept him past the bound. 
And Martin Antolinez stood alone upon the ground. 
" Come hither," said the king ; "thus far the conquerors are ye." 
And fairly fought and won the field the marshals both agree. 
So much for these, and how they fought : remains to tell you yet 
How meanwhile Muiio Gustioz Assur Gonzalez met. 
With a strong arm and steady aim each struck the other's shield, 
And under Assur's sturdy thrusts the plates of Muiio's yield; 
But harmless passed the lance's point, and spent its force in air. 
Not so Don Mufio's ; on the shield of Assur striking fair. 
Through plate and boss and foeman's breast his pennoned lance he sent, 
Till out between the shoulder blades a fathom's length it went. 
Then, as the lance he plucked away, clear from the saddle swung, 
With one strong wrench of Mufio's wrist to earth was Assur flung; 
And back it came, shaft, pennon, blade, all stained a gory red ; 
Nor was there one of all the crowd but counted Assur sped, 
While o'er him Muiio Gustioz stood with uplifted brand. 
Then cried Gonzalo Assurez : " In God's name hold thy hand ! 
Already have ye won the field; no more is needed now." 
And said the marshals, " It is just, and we the claim allow." 
And then the King Alfonso gave command to clear the ground, 
And gather in the relics of the battle strewed around. 
And from the field in honor went Don Roderick's champions three. 
Thanks be to God, the Lord of all, that gave the victory. 

But fearing treachery, that night upon their way they went. 
As King Alfonso's honored guests in safety homeward sent, 
And to Valencia city day and night they journeyed on, 
To tell my Cid Campeador that his behest was done. 
But in the lands of Carrion it was a day of woe, 
And on the lords of Carrion it fell a heavy blow. 
He who a noble lady wrongs and casts aside — may he 
Meet like requital for his deeds, or worse, if worse there be. 
But let us leave them where they lie — their meed is all men's scorn. 



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID. 



255 



Turn we to speak of him that in a happy hour was born. 

Valencia the Great was glad, rejoiced at heart to see 

The honored champions of her lord return in victory : 

And Ruy Diaz grasped his beard : " Thanks be to God," said he, 

" Of part or lot in Carrion now are my daughters free ; 

Now may I give them without shame whoe'er the suitors be." 

And favored by the king himself, Alfonso of Leon, 

Prosperous was the wooing of Navarre and Aragon, 

The bridals of Elvira and of Sol in splendor passed ; 

Stately the former nuptials were, but statelier far the last. 

And he that in a good hour was born, behold how he hath sped! 

His daughters now to higher rank and greater honor wed : 

Sought by Navarre and Aragon for queens his daughters twain ; 

And monarchs of his blood to-day upon the thrones of Spain. 

And so his honor in the land grows greater day by day. 

Upon the feast of Pentecost from life he passed away. 

For him and, all of us the Grace of Christ let us implore. 

And here ye have the story of my Cid Campeador. 

Ormsbys Translation. 



THE DIVINE COMEDY. 

" This Poem of the earth and air, 
This mediaeval miracle of song." 

DANTE ALIGHIERI was born at Florence, in May, 
1265. His family belonged to the Guelph, or Papal 
faction, and he early took part in the struggle between the 
parties. In 1274 he first saw Beatrice Portinari, and he 
says of this meeting in the " Vita Nuova," " I say that thence- 
forward Love swayed my soul, which was even then espoused 
to him." Beatrice died in 1290, and Dante married Gemma 
Donati, between 1291 and 1294. In 1295 ^^ joined the 
Art of Druggists, in order to become a member of the Ad- 
ministrative Council. In 1300 he was made Prior, and in 
1301, when the Neri entered Florence, he was exiled, his 
property confiscated, and himself sentenced to be burned, if 
found within the republic. After this he became a Ghi- 
beline, and took up arms against the city with his fellow- 
exiles, but withdrew from their council at last because of 
disagreements, and separating from them, spent his time at 
Verona, Padua, Sunigianda, and in the monastery of Gubbio. 
In 1316 the government of Florence issued a decree allow- 
ing the exiles to return on payment of a fine ; but Dante 
indignantly refused to acknowledge thus that he had been in 
the wrong. He was in Ravenna in 1320, and died there 
Sept. 14, 132 1, on his return from an embassy to Venice. 

The " Commedia " was written during Dante's nineteen 
years of exile. The three parts, Hell, Purgatory, and Para- 
dise, are emblematic of the threefold state of man, — sin, 
grace, and beatitude. The thirty-three cantos into which each 
part is divided, are in allusion to the years of the Saviour's 
life, and the triple rhyme suggests the Trinity. 

17 



258 NATIONAL EPICS. 

The Divine Comedy is written in the terza rima, which 
consists of three verses arranged in such a way that the 
middle Une of each triplet rhymes with the first or third verse 
of the succeeding triplet. 

The entire time occupied in the " Commedia " is eleven 
days, from March 25 to April 5, 1300. 

Dante called the poem a comedy because of its pros- 
j:)erous ending. The prefix " divine " was given it later by 
its admirers. 

The Divine Comedy is sometimes called the epic of 
mediaevalism, and again, the epic of man. Dante himself 
said : " The subject of the whole work, then, taken literally, 
is the state of the soul after death, regarded as a matter of 
fact ; for the action of the whole work deals with this and is 
about this. But if the work be taken allegorically, its sub- 
ject is man, in so far as by merit or demerit in the exercise 
of free will, he is exposed to the rewards or punishment of 
justice." 

For a time the Divine Comedy was neglected, and even 
in comparatively recent times the Inferno was the only por- 
tion read ; but of late years there has been a re-awakening 
of interest in regard to the whole poem. 

In no other of the epics has the author put so much of 
himself as Dante has in the " Commedia." It was he himself 
who saw this vision ; he himself, proud, tortured, who car- 
ried the sense of his wrongs with him through Hell and 
Purgatory, even into Paradise. We learn the history of his 
times, all the crimes committed by men in high position, and 
we also learn the history of the unhappy Florentine, of 
whose poem it has been said, " none other in the world is so 
deeply and universally sorrowful." 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Divine Comedy. J. 
Colomb de Batines's Bibliografia Dantesca, 2 vols., 1846 \ 
William Coolidge Lane's The Dante collections in the Har- 
vard College and Boston Public Libraries (Bibliographical 
contributions of the library of Harvard University, 1885); 
William. Coolid2:e Lane's Additions to the Dante collection 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 



259 



in the Harvard Library (see the Annual Reports of the 
Dante Society of Cambridge, Mass., 1887) ; Brother Aza- 
rius's Spiritual Sense of the Divina Commedia (in his Phases 
of Thought and Criticism, 1892, pp. 125-182) ; Henry 
Clark Barlow's Critical Contributions to the Study of the 
Divine Comedy, 1865 ; Herbert Baynes's Dante and his 
Ideal, 189 1 ; Vincenzo Botta's Introduction to the Study of 
Dante, 1887; Oscar Browning's Dante, his Life and Writ- 
ing, 1890, pp. 70-104; A. J. Butler's Dante, his Time and 
Work, 1895 i Richard WiUiam Church's Dante and Other 
Essays, 1888, pp. 1-191; J. Farrazzi's Manuale Dantesco, 
5 vols., 1865-77; William Torrey Harris's Spiritual Sense 
of Dante's Divina Commedia, 1890; Francis Hettinger's 
Dante's Divina Commedia, its Scope and Value, Tr. by H. S. 
Bowden, 1887 (Roman Catholic standpoint) ; J. R. Lowell's 
Essay on Dante (in his Among my Books, 1876) ; Lewis F. 
Mott's Dante and Beatrice, an Essay on Interpretation, 
1892 ; Giovanni Andrea Scartazzini's A Companion to 
Dante, from the German, by A. J. Butler, 1892 ; Denton J. 
Snider's Dante's Inferno : a Commentary, 1892; Augustus 
Hopkins Strong's Dante and the Divine Comedy (in his 
Philosophy and Religion, 1888, pp. 501-524) ; John Adding- 
ton Symonds's An Introduction to the Study of Dante, Ed. 2, 
1890; Paget Toynbee's Dictionary of the Divina Comme- 
dia, 2 parts ; William Warren Vernon's Readings on the 
Purgatorio of Dante, chiefly based on the Commentary of 
Benvenuto da Imola ; Intro, by the Dean of St. Paul's, 2 
vols., 1889 ; Dr. Edward Moore's Time References in the 
Divina Commedia, London, 1887 ; Dr. E. Moore's Contri- 
butions to the Textual Criticism of the Divina Commedia, 
Cambridge, 1889. 

Standard English Translations, the Divine Comedy. 
The Divine Comedy, the Inferno, a literal prose translation 
with the text of the original collated from the best editions, 
with explanatory notes by J. A. Carlyle, Ed. 6, 1891 (con- 
tains valuable chapters on manuscripts, translations, etc.) ; 
Divina Commedia, edited with translation and notes by 



26o NATIONAL EPICS. 

A. J. Butler, 1892 ; Vision of Hell, Purgatory, and Para- 
dise, Tr. by H. F. Gary, 1888 ; The Divine Comedy, Tr. by 
H. W. Longfellow, 1887 ; The Divine Comedy, Tr. by C. E. 
Norton, 1891-92 (rhythmical prose translation) ; The Divine 
Comedy, Tr. of the Commedia and Lanzoniere, notes, 
essays, and biographical introduction by E. H. Plumptre, 
1887 ; Divina Commedia, Tr. into English verse with notes 
and illustrations by J. A. Wilstach, 2 vols., 1888. 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 261 

THE DIVINE COMEDY. 
The Hell. 

The Hell conceived by Dante was made by the falling of 
Lucifer to the centre of the earth. It was directly under 
Jerusalem. The earth, displaced by Lucifer's fall, made the 
Mount of Purgatory, which was the antipodes of Jerusalem. 

The unbarred entrance gate, over which stands the inscrip- 
tion, " Leave hope behind, all ye who enter here," leads into 
a Vestibule, or Ante- Hell, a dark plain separated from 
Hell proper by the river Acheron. Hell proper then falls 
into three great divisions for the punishment of the sins of 
Incontinence, Bestiality, and Malice, which are punished in 
nine circles, each circle sub-divided. Circle One is the 
Limbo of the Unbaptized. Circles Two, Three, Four, and 
Five are reserved for the punishment of the sins of Inconti- 
nence, Lasciviousness, Gluttony, Avarice with Prodigality, 
and Anger with Melancholy. In Circle Six is punished the 
sin of Bestiality, under which fall Infidelity and Heresiarchy, 
Bestiality having here its Itahan meaning of folly. In Cir- 
cles Seven and Eight is punished Malice, subdivided into 
Violence and Fraud. There are three divisions of Violence, 
— the Violent against their neighbors (Tyrants, Murderers, 
etc.) ; the Violent against themselves (Suicides) ; and the 
violent against God (Blasphemers, etc.) ; and ten divisions 
of Circle Eight, — Fraud, /. e.. Seducers, Flatterers, Simoni- 
acs, Soothsayers, Barrators, Hypocrites, Thieves, False Coun- 
sellors, Schismatics, and Forgers and Falsifiers. Below these 
ten pits yawns the well of the giants, above which the giants 
tower so that half their persons is visible. Within this 
well in Circle Nine is Cocytus, a lake of ice divided into 
four belts, — Caina, Antenora, Ptolemaea, andjudecca, where 
are punished, respectively, the Betrayers of their kindred, of 
their country, of their friends and guests, and of their bene- 
factors. At the bottom of the pit is Lucifer, half above the 
ice and half below it, the centre of his body being the centre 
of gravity. 



262 • NATIONAL EPICS. 

THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 
The Hell. 

The poet Dante, in the thirty-fifth year of his life, this 
being the year 1300 a. d., on New Year's day of the old 
reckoning, lost his way in a rough and thorny forest, and 
when he attempted to regain it by mounting a hill that rose 
before him resplendent in sunshine, encountered a leopard, 
a lion, and a wolf. Driven back by these, and utterly de- 
spairing of rescue, he met one who declared himself to be 
that Vergil who had sung the fall of Troy and the flight of 
^neas, and who promised to take him through the lower 
world and Purgatory, even unto Paradise. Dante questioned 
why it was permitted to him to take the journey denied to so 
many others, and was told that Vergil had been sent to his 
rescue by the beauteous Beatrice, long since in Paradise. 
When the poet, trembling with fear, heard that the shining 
eyes of Beatrice had wept over his danger in the forest, and 
that she had sought the gates of hell to effect his rescue, 
his strength was renewed, even as the flowers, chifled by the 
frosts of night, uplift themselves in the bright light of the 
morning sun ; and he entered without fear on the deep and 
savage way. 

This allegory, being interpreted, probably means that the 
poet, entangled in the dark forest of political anarchy, was 
driven from the hill of civil order by the Leopard of Pleasure 
(Florence), the Lion of Ambition (France), and the Wolf of 
Avarice (Rome), and was by divine grace granted a vision 
of the three worlds that he might realize what comes after 
death, and be the more firmly established in the right political 
faith, — GhibelHnism. 

"Through me is the way into the sorrowful city; into 
eternal dole among the lost people. Justice incited my sub- 
lime Creator. Divine Omnipotence, the highest wisdom, 
and the Primal Love created me. Before me, there were no 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 



263 



created things. Only eternal, and I eternal, last. Abandon 
hope, all ye who enter here ! " 

Such was the inscription over the doorway, after the read- 
ing of which Dante's ears were assailed by words of agony and 
heart-rending cries. "This," said Vergil, "is the home of 
those melancholy souls who lived without infamy and with- 
out praise. Cowards and selfish in life, they are denied even 
entrance to hell." As they looked, a long train passed by, 
stung by gadflies and following a whirling standard. 

Charon, about whose eyes were wheels of flame, endeav- 
ored to drive the poet and his guide away as they stood 
among the weary and naked souls that gathered shivering on 
the margin of Acheron ; but as a blast of wind and a burst 
of crimson light caused a deep sleep to fall on the poet, he 
was wafted across the river, and awaking he found himself in 
the Limbo of the Unbaptized, the first of the nine circles of 
hell, where were the souls of many men, women, and infants, 
whose only punishment was, without hope, to live on in de- 
sire. Here was no torment, only the sadness caused by the 
ever-unsatisfied longing for the ever-denied divine grace. 
This was Vergil's abode, and in the noble castles set among 
the green enamelled meadows dwelt Homer, Horace, and 
Ovid, Electra, Hector, and Camilla. 

Passing down a narrow walk into a region of semi- darkness, 
they entered the second circle, where Minos stood, judging 
the sinners and girding himself with his tail as many times 
as v/as the number of the circle to which the spirit was to 
go. Here in darkness and storm were the carnal sinners, 
whose punishment was to be beaten hither and thither by the 
winds, — Semiramis, Dido, Cleopatra, Paris, Tristan, and all 
those who had sinned for love, and here Dante conversed 
with the spirit of Francesca da Rimini, whom he had known 
in life, and her lover Paolo, slain for their sin by her husband. 
Though there is no greater sorrow than to be mindful of the 
happy time in misery, she assured Dante that the sorrows of 
Hell were lightened by the presence of Paolo. 

At the sight of Paolo's grief Dante fell swooning with pity, 
and awoke to find himself in the circle where a cold rain fell 



264 NATIONAL EPICS. 

forever on the gluttons. Cerberus guarded the entrance, and 
now and again devoured the unhappy ones who lay prone on 
their faces in the murk and mire. Here Ciacco of Florence 
recognized and spoke with Dante, falling back in the mire 
as the poet passed on, to rise no more until the Day of 
Judgment. 

Plutus guarded the fourth circle, where were confined the 
avaricious and prodigal, who, divided into two bands, rolled 
weights against each other, uttering wretched insults. Down 
the sloping banks to the marsh of the Styx the poets went, 
past the sullen and angry, who in life refused the comfort of 
the sweet air and gladdening sun, and were in consequence 
doomed forever to remain buried in the sullen mire. As 
Dante and Vergil passed over the Styx in the boat of the 
vile Phlegyas, Dante was saluted by the spirit of the once 
haughty and arrogant Philippe Argenti, whom he repulsed, 
and gladly saw set upon and torn by the people of the 
mire. 

Then appeared to him the mosques of the city of Dis, 
within the valley, vermilion-hued from the fire eternal. Deep 
were the moats ; the walls appeared to be of iron. Upon 
the flaming summit sat the Furies, stained with blood, begirt 
with Hydras. Here even Vergil trembled as they waited the 
arrival of one sent from Heaven to open the gate and admit 
them. 

Within, over the plain, were scattered sepulchres heated 
red hot, with uplifted coverings, from which issued forth dire 
laments from the Infidels and Heresiarchs tormented within. 
To Farinata degli Uberti, who rose from his tomb to ask the 
news of Florence, Dante spoke, observing in the mean time 
a shade that, on hearing the Tuscan tongue, rose next Uberti, 
questioning, "Where is my son, my Guido?" Fancying 
from the poet's delay in answering, and his use of the past 
tense, that his beloved child no longer enjoyed the sweet 
light, Cavalcante fell back and appeared no more. 

Leaving the dismal plain, whose countless tombs would re- 
main open until the Judgment Day, the poets entered upon 
the next and seventh circle, composed of three smaller circles 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 265 

in which were punished the Violent against their neighbors, 
against nature, and against God. The steep banks of the 
ravine were guarded by the huge Minotaur, from which Dante 
and Vergil escaped only by running. 

Within Phlegethon, the boiling river of blood, stood the 
tyrants, among whom were Dionysius, Azzolin, and Attila, 
uttering loud laments. If they ventured to stir from their 
place of torment they were pierced by the arrows of the 
Centaurs that guarded the banks. The Centaur Nessus con- 
veyed Dante across the river into the second circle, the 
dolorous forest, where the Violent against nature, the Suicides, 
were transformed into closely set, twisted thorn-trees, infested 
with harpies that fed on their leaves, inflicting perpetual pain ; 
thence into the third circle, where the Violent against God, 
chief among whom was the arrogant Capaneus, dwelt in a 
sandy plain surrounded by the dolorous forest. Upon the 
naked souls, some of whom were lying supine, some crouch- 
ing, others moving about continually, fell a perpetual shower 
of flakes of fire. 

Picking their way along the edge of the forest, not daring 
to step on the sand waste, the poets came upon a httle 
blood-red rivulet quenching the flames above it, Phlegethon 
again, formed by the rivers Acheron and Styx, whose source 
is the tears of Time. As they skirted the forest they saw a 
troop of spirits hastening past, one of whom, after a sharp 
look, grasped Dante's garment exclaiming, " What a wonder! " 
The baked countenance, the ghastly face, was that of his old 
teacher Ser Brunetto, who not daring to stop for fear of 
increasing his punishment, followed him, questioning him 
on his appearance below, and comforting him by the as- 
surance of his future greatness. Deep were the burns in 
the Hmbs of the other Florentines Dante met below, to 
whom he gave tidings of the state of affairs in their former 
home. 

Mounting on the shoulders of the hideous monster Geryon, 
the poets were carried into a fearful abyss whose sides were 
Alp-hke in steepness. This was the eighth circle, Malebolge, 
or Evil pits, consisting of ten concentric bolge, or ditches 



2 66 NATIONAL EPICS. 

of stone with dikes between and rough bridges running 
across them to the centre. 

In the first pit Jason and other deceivers of women were 
being lashed by horned demons. In pit two, a Florentine 
friend of Dante's was submerged with others in filth as a 
punishment for flattery. In pit three the Simoniacs were 
placed head down in purses in the earth, their projecting 
feet tortured with flames. The poets crossed the bridge, 
and Vergil carried Dante down the sloping bank so that he 
could speak to one who proved to be the unhappy Nicholas 
III., who accused Boniface for his evil deeds and expressed 
a longing for his arrival in this place of torture. From the 
next bridge-top Dante dimly perceived the slow proces- 
sion of weeping soothsayers with heads reversed on their 
shoulders. There walked Amphiarus, Tiresias, Manto, and 
Michael Scott. So great was Dante's sorrow on beholding 
the misery of these men who had once been held in such 
great esteem, that he leaned against a crag and wept until 
reproved by Vergil as a reprobate for feeling compassion at 
the doom divine. Through the semi-darkness the poets 
looked down into pit five, where devils with fantastic names 
pitched barrators into a lake of boiling pitch and speared 
those who dared to raise their heads above the surface. 
From these Evil Claws Dante and Vergil escaped only by 
running into the sixth pit, where walked the hypocrites in 
richly gilded mantles. When Dante wondered at their 
weary faces and their tears, he was told by two of the Frati 
Gaudenti (Jolly Friars) of Florence who suffered here, that 
the cloaks and hoods were of heaviest lead, a load that 
grew more irksome with the ages. Caiaphas, Annas, and 
the members of the council that condemned Christ lay on 
the ground transfixed with stakes, and over their bodies 
passed the slow moving train of the hypocrites. The next 
bridge lay in ruins as a result of the earthquake at the Cruci- 
fixion, and Vergil experienced the utmost difficulty in con- 
veying Dante up the crags to a point where he could look 
down into the dark dungeon of thieves, where the naked 
tlirong were entwined with serpents and at their bite changed 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 267 

from man to serpent and back again. Some burned and 
fell into ashes at the venomous bite, only to rise again and 
suffer new tortures. Here Dante spoke with Vanni Fucci 
of Pistoja, who robbed the sacristy of Florence, and whose 
face " was painted with a melancholy shame " at being seen 
in his misery. The eighth pit was brightly lighted by the 
flames that moved back and forth, each concealing within 
an evil counsellor. Ulysses and Diomed walked together 
in a flame cleft at the top, for the crime of robbing Deidamia 
of Achilles, of stealing the Palladium, and of fabricating the 
Trojan horse. As Dante looked into pit nine he saw a 
troop compelled to pass continually by a demon with a 
sharp sword who mutilated each one each time he made 
the round of the circle, so that the wounds never healed. 
These were the evil counsellors. Mahomet was there ; 
there too was Ali. But ghastliest of sights was that of a 
headless trunk walking through the grim plain, holding its 
severed head by the hair like a lantern, and exclaiming '' O 
me I " This was the notorious Bertrand de Born, the Trou- 
badour, who had caused dissension between Henry H. of 
England and his son. Among this throng Dante recognized 
his kinsman Geri del Bello, who gave him a disdainful look 
because he had not yet avenged his death. From the tenth 
and last pit of Malebolge came a stench as great as though 
it came from all the hospitals of Valdichiana, Maremma, 
and Sardinia, between July and September. All the loath- 
some diseases were gathered into this moat to afflict the 
forgers and falsifiers. Here Dante saw Athamas, mad king 
of Thebes, the mad Gianni Schicchi, and Messer Adam of 
Brescia, the false coiner, who, distorted with dropsy, was 
perishing of thirst, and thinking constantly of the cool rivu- 
lets that descended from the verdant hills of Casentino. 

As Dante and his guide turned their backs on the 
wretched valley and ascended the bank that surrounded it, 
the blare of a loud horn fell upon their ears, louder than 
Roland's blast at Roncesvalles. This came from the plain 
of the giants between Malebolge and the mouth of the in- 
fernal pit. All around the pit, or well, were set the giants 



268 NATIONAL EPICS. 

with half their bodies fixed in earth. Nimrod, as a punish- 
ment for building the tower of Babel, could speak no lan- 
guage, but babbled some gibberish. Ephialtes, Briareus, 
and Antaeus were here, all horrible in aspect ; Antaeus, less 
savage than the others, lifted the two poets, and stooping 
set them down in the pit below. This was the last and 
ninth circle, a dismal pit for the punishment of traitors, who 
were frozen in the vast lake that Cocytus formed here. In 
Caina were the brothers Alessandro and Napoleone degli 
Alberti, mutual fratricides, their heads frozen together. 
In Antenora was that Guelph Bocca who had caused his 
party's defeat ; but the most horrible sight they encountered 
was in Ptolemaea, where Count Ugolino, who had been 
shut up with his sons and grandsons in a tower to starve by 
the Archbishop Ruggieri, was now revenging himself in their 
place of torture by continually gnawing the archbishop's 
head, frozen in the ice next his own. Farther down they 
walked among those who, when they shed tears over their 
woe had their teardrops frozen, so that even this solace 
was soon denied them. Dante promised to break the 
frozen veil from the eyes of one who prayed for aid, but 
when he learned that it was the Friar Alberigo, whose body 
was still on earth, and whose soul was already undergoing 
punishment, he refused, " for to be rude to him was courtesy." 

In the fourth and last division of the ninth circle, the 
Judecca, a strong wind was blowing. Then Dante saw 
the emperor of the kingdom frozen in the ice, a mighty 
giant foul to look upon, with three faces, vermilion, white 
and yellow, and black. The waving of his two featherless 
wings caused the great winds that froze Cocytus. Tear- 
drops fell from his six eyes ; in each mouth he was crunch- 
ing a sinner, Judas Iscariot, Brutus, and Cassius. 

Being warned by Vergil that it was time to 'depart, Dante 
clasped his guide around his neck, and Vergil began to climb 
down the huge monster until they reached his middle, the 
centre of gravity, where with much difficulty they turned 
and climbed upward along the subterranean course of Lethe, 
until they again beheld the stars. 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 269 



THE DIVINE COMEDY. 

The Purgatory. 

The Purgatory of Dante is situated on a mountain top 
on the opposite side of the earth from Jerusalem, and is sur- 
rounded by the western ocean. The souls of those who go 
there collect on the banks of the Tiber, and are taken to the 
mountain in a boat by an angel pilot. The shores of the 
island are covered with the reeds of humility. Around 
the base of the mount dwell the souls that, repenting late, 
must " expiate each year of deferred penitence with thirty 
years of deferred Purgatory " unless the time be shortened 
by the prayers of their friends on earth. There are three 
stages of this Ante-Purgatory : the first, for those who put off 
conversion through negligence ; the second, for those who 
died by violence and repented while dying ; the third, for 
those monarchs who were too much absorbed in earthly 
greatness to give much thought to the world to come. The 
ascent of the terraces, as also those of Purgatory proper, is 
very difficult, and is not allowed to be made after sunset. 
The gate of St. Peter separates Ante-Purgatory from Purga- 
tory proper. Three steps, the first of polished white marble, 
the second of purple, rough and cracked, and the third of 
blood-red porphyry, signifying confession, contrition, and 
penance, lead to the gate where sits the angel clad in a peni- 
tential robe, with the gold and silver keys with which to un- 
lock the outer and inner gates. Purgatory proper consists 
of seven terraces, in each of which one of the seven capital 
sins. Pride, Anger, Sloth, Avarice, Gluttony, and Lascivious- 
ness are punished ; Pride first, because no other sin can be 
purged from the body until this deepest sin is eliminated. 
The soul, cleansed of these sins, mounts to the terres- 
trial paradise, which, above the sphere of air, crowns the 
Mount of Purgatory. 



270 NATIONAL EPICS. 

THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 

The Purgatory. 

As morning dawned and the poets slowly climbed out of 
the infernal region and stepped upon the isle from which the 
Mount of Purgatory rises, they were accosted by an old man 
with long white hair and beard, Cato of Utica, who demanded 
the reason of their coming, and only permitted them to remain 
when he heard that a lady from Heaven had given the com- 
mand. Then he ordered Vergil to lave the smoke of Hell 
from Dante's face in the waves of the sea, and to gird him 
with the reed of humility. As the sun rose a radiant angel, 
guiding a boat laden with souls, appeared, and the poets fell 
on their knees until he departed. 

As the newly-landed spirits questioned Vergil of the way 
up the mountain, Dante recognized among them his beloved 
friend Casella, the musician, and tried in vain to embrace 
his spirit body. At Dante's request, Casella began to sing, 
and the enchanted spirits were scattered only by the chiding 
voice of Cato. 

Vergil surveyed the insurmountable height before them, 
and hastened with Dante to inquire the way of a troop of 
souls coming towards them. As they talked, Dante recog- 
nized one, blond and smiling, with a gash over one eyebrow 
and another over his heart. It was Manfredi, King of Apulia 
and Sicily, who was slain at Benevento by Charles of Anjou, 
and, being under excommunication, was not allowed Christian 
burial. He asked Dante to make him happy by telling his 
daughter that by faith he was saved from eternal destruction, 
but because of his sins he must spend thirty times the time 
that his presumption had endured at the foot of the mount, 
unless his time was shortened by the righteous prayers of his 
friends on earth. 

It was with the greatest difficulty that the poets clambered 
up the steep and narrow path to the next terrace, and only 
the assurance that the ascent would grow easier as he neared 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 271 

the summit sustained Dante. As Vergil explained to him 
while resting on the next terrace that the sun appeared on 
his left because Purgatory and Jerusalem were in different 
hemispheres, some one spoke, and turning they saw a group 
of persons in an attitude of indolence, among them a Floren- 
tine acquaintance, Belacqua, a maker of musical instruments, 
who sat waiting the length of another hfetime for admission 
above because he had postponed conversion from time to 
time, through negligence. 

Proceeding, the poets met a concourse of souls who had 
suffered violent death, chanting the Miserere, who perceiv- 
ing Dante to be living, sent messages to their friends on 
earth. Among these were Giacopo del Cassero and Buon- 
conte di Montefeltro, son of Dante's friend, Guido di Mon- 
tefeltro, who fell in the battle of Campaldino, in which Dante 
had taken part. Wounded in the neck, he fell, and had just 
time to breathe a prayer to Mary, thus saving his soul from 
the Evil One, who was so incensed that, raising a great storm, 
he caused the rivers to overflow and sweep away the lifeless 
body, tearing from it the cross he had made with his arms in 
his last agony, and burying it in the mire of the Arno. The 
third shade bade him think of her when, returned home, he 
sang of his journey. She was Pia, born at Sienna, who died 
at Maremma, by. the hand of her husband. 

Dante at last managed to escape from these shades, who 
implored him to ask for prayers for them on earth, and 
moved on with Vergil until they met the haughty shade of 
Sordello, who clasped Vergil in his arms when he learned he 
was a Mantuan. Touched by this expression of love for his 
native land, Dante launched into an apostrophe to degener- 
ate Italy, to that German Albert who refused to save the 
country groaning under oppression, and to lost Florence, 
torn by internecine wars. 

When Sordello learned that the Mantuan shade was Vergil, 
he humbled himself before him, and paid him reverence, 
asking eagerly in what part of the underworld he dwelt. 
The sun was sinking, and as the poets could not ascend by 
night, he urged them to pass the night with him. Leading 



272 NATIONAL EPICS. 

them to a vale carpeted with emerald grass and brilliant with 
flowers, he pointed out the shades singing "Salve Regina" 
as the Emperor Rudolph, — he who made an effort to heal 
sick Italy, — Philip III. of France, Charles I. of Naples, 
and Henry III. of England. As the hour of twilight ap- 
proached, that hour in which the sailor thinks of home, 
and the pilgrim thrills at the sound of vesper bells, Dante 
beheld a shade arise, and lifting its palms begin to sing 
the vesper hymn. Soon two radiant angels clad in deli- 
cate green descended from Heaven, holding flaming swords. 
These, Sordello explained, were to keep off the serpent that 
threatened this fair vale at night. 

As the hour of night approached in which the swallow 
laments its woes, Dante fell asleep on the grass and dreamed 
that he was Ganymede snatched from Mt. Ida by Jove's 
eagle. Awaking, he found himself alone with Vergil in a 
strange place, with the sun two hours high. Lucia, symboli- 
cal of the enlightening grace of Heaven, had conveyed him 
to the spot and pointed out to Vergil the gate of Purgatory. 
Cheered and confident, he rose, and they went together to 
the portal and mounted the three steps, the first of shining 
white marble, the second of purple stone, cracked and burnt, 
and the third of flaming red porphyry. There, on the dia- 
mond threshold, sat an angel with a naked sword, clad in a 
robe of ashen gray, whose face was too bright to look upon. 
When Dante fell on his knees and implored entrance, the 
angel imprinted on his forehead seven " P's " for the seven 
sins (Peccata), and opening the gate with the gold and silver 
keys, ushered them into the mighty portals. '' From Peter 
I have these keys. Me he instructed to err rather in open- 
ing than in keeping shut. But see that ye look not behind, 
or ye will at once return." 

With much difficulty the two poets ascended the steep 
and winding path, and paused to view the wonderful sculp- 
tures on the embankment, that would put Nature herself to 
shame, so natural were they. Many examples of Humility 
were there portrayed, — the Virgin Mary, the Holy Ark, 
drawn by oxen, the Psalmist dancing before the Lord, while 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 273 

Michal looked forth in scorn from her palace window, and 
Trajan, yielding to the widow's prayer. As they stood 
there, the souls came in sight. " Reader, attend not to 
the fashion of the torment, but think of what follows." The 
unhappy ones crept around the terrace, bowed under a 
heavy burden of stones, and the most patient, as he bent 
under his burden, exclaimed, with tears, "I can do no 
more ! " As they walked they repeated the Lord's Prayer, 
and kept their eyes fixed on the life-hke sculptures on the 
floor of those who had suffered before them for the sins 
of pride : Lucifer, falling from Heaven ; Briareus and Nim- 
rod overcome by the bolts of Jove ; Niobe, weeping among 
her dead children ; Cyrus's head taunted by Tomyris ; Troy 
humbled in ashes. 

As Vergil approached the penitents to inquire the way to 
the next terrace, he and Dante were invited to join the 
procession and talk with one who could not Hft his face 
enough to see them. This was Omberto, who had been 
slain by the Siennese for his unbearable pride. Dante also 
talked with his friend Oderigi, an illuminator of manuscript, 
who now humbly acknowledged that he was far surpassed 
by Franco Bolognese. " What is mundane glory ? " he 
exclaimed, as he pointed out Provenzano Salvani, with 
whose fame Tuscany once rang, but who barely escaped 
Hell by his voluntary humiliation for a friend. '' Lift up 
thy face!" commanded Vergil, as Dante walked with his 
head bowed, absorbed in the floor-sculptures ; and as he 
looked, the white-robed angel whose face was like " a trem- 
ulous flame " approached, and struck Dante's forehead with 
his wings. Dante marvelled at the ease with which he 
mounted, until his master explained that the heaviest sin, 
the sin that underiies all others, had fallen from him when 
the angel struck the " P " from his forehead^ and that the 
ascent would grow still lighter from terrace to terrace. 
" Blessed are the poor in spirit ! " sung by sweet voices, 
greeted the mounting poets. 

The second terrace was of livid stone unrelieved by any 
sculpture. The air was full of voices inculcating charity 

18 



274 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



and self-denial, and others lamenting the sin of envy. Here 
envy was punished, and here the sharpest pain pierced 
Dante's heart as he saw the penitents sit shoulder to shoulder 
against the diff, robed in sackcloth of the same livid color, 
their eyelids, through which bitter tears trickled, sewed to- 
gether with wire. Sapia of Sienna first greeted Dante and 
entreated him to pray for her. When she had told how, 
after having been banished from her city, she had prayed 
that her townsman might be defeated by the Florentines, 
Dante passed on and spoke with Guido of Duca, who 
launched into an invective against Florence to his com- 
panion Rinieri. " The whole valley of the Arno is so vile 
that its very name should die. Wonder not at my tears, 
Tuscan, when I recall the great names of the past, and 
compare them with the curs who have fallen heir to them. 
Those counts are happiest who have left no famihes." 
Guido himself was punished on this terrace because of his 
envy of every joyous man, and the spirit with whom he 
talked was Rinieri, whose line had once been highly hon- 
ored. "Go, Tuscan," exclaim.ed Guido, "better now I 
love my grief than speech." As the poets passed on, the 
air was filled with the lamentations of sinful but now repent- 
ant spirits. 

Dazzled by the Angel's splendor, the poets passed up 
the stairs to the third terrace, Dante in the mean time 
asking an explanation of Guido's words on joint resolve and 
trust. 

" The less one thinks of another's possessions," replied 
his guide, " and the more he speaks of ^ our ' instead of 
' my,' the more of the Infinite Good flows towards him. 
If you thirst for further instruction, await the coming of 
Beatrice." 

As they attained the next height, Dante, rapt in vision, 
saw the sweet Mother questioning her Son in the Temple, 
saw Pisistratus, his queen, and the martyred Stephen blessing 
his enemies in death. As he awoke, they passed on, to 
become involved in a thick cloud of smoke, through which 
it was impossible to distinguish any object, and whose pur- 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 275 

pose was to purge away anger, the sin-cloud that veils the 
mortal eye. 

As they passed from the thick smoke into the sunset, 
Dante fell into a trance, and saw Itys, Haman, and other 
notable examples of unbridled anger, and as the visions 
faded away, was blinded by the splendor of the angel guide 
who directed them to the fourth terrace. As they waited 
for the dawn, Vergil answered Dante's eager questions. 
" Love," he said, " is the seed of every virtue, and also of 
every act for which God punished man. Natural love is 
without error ; but if it is bent on evil aims, if it lacks suffic- 
iency, or if it overleaps its bounds and refuses to be governed 
by wise laws, it causes those sins that are punished on this 
mount. The defective love which manifests itself as sloth- 
fulness is punished on this terrace." 

A troop of spirits rushed past them as morning broke, 
making up by their haste for the sloth that had marked 
their lives on earth. As they hurried on they urged them- 
selves to diligence by cries of " In haste the mountains 
blessed Mary won ! " " Caesar flew to Spain ! " " Haste ! 
Grace grows best in those who ardor feel ! " As the poet 
meditated on their words, he lapsed into a dream in which 
he saw the Siren who drew brave mariners from their courses ; 
and even as he listened to her melodious song, he beheld 
her exposed by a saint-like lady, Lucia, or Illuminating 
Grace. Day dawned, the Angel fanned the fourth "P" 
from his forehead, and the poet ascended to the fifth terrace, 
where lay the shades of the avaricious, prostrate on the 
earth, weeping over their sins. They who in life had reso- 
lutely turned their gaze from Heaven and fixed it on the 
things of the earth, must now grovel in the dust, denouncing 
avarice, and extolling the poor and hberal until the years 
have worn away their sin. 

Bending over Pope Adrian the Fifth, Dante heard his 
confession that he was converted while he held the Roman 
shepherd's staff. Then he learned how false a dream was 
life, but too late, alas! to escape this punishment. As 
Dante spoke with the shade of Capet the elder, a mighty 



276 NATIONAL EPICS. 

trembling shook the mountain, which chilled his heart until 
he learned from the shade of Statins, whom they next met, 
that it was caused by the moving upward of a purified soul, 
his own, that had been undergoing purgation on this terrace 
five hundred years and more. " Statins was I," said the 
shade, " and my inspiration came from that bright fountain 
of heavenly fire, the ^neid ; it was my mother ; to it I owe 
my fame. Gladly would I have added a year to my banish- 
ment here, could I have known the Mantuan." Vergil's 
glance said " Be mute ! ^^ but Dante's smile betrayed the 
secret, and Statins fell at Vergil's feet adoring. Statins had 
suffered for the sin of prodigahty, which was punished, 
together with avarice, on this terrace. 

The three proceeded upward to the sixth terrace, the 
ascent growing easier on the disappearance of the " P " of 
avarice from Dante's forehead. Vergil and Statins moved 
on in loving conversation, Dante reverently following. 
" Your Pollio led me to Christianity," said Statins, " but my 
cowardice caused me long to conceal it. Prodigality brought 
me hither." 

On the sixth terrace two trees stood in opposite parts of 
the pathway that the gluttons were compelled to tread, the 
first with branches broad at the top and tapering downward, 
so that it was impossible to mount it ; upon it fell a fount of 
limpid water. From its branches a voice cried, '' Of this 
food ye shall have a scarcity. In the primal age, acorns 
furnished sweet food and each rivulet seemed nectar." 
Towards the next tree, grown from a twig of the tree of 
knowledge, the gluttons stretched eager hands, but a voice 
cried, " Pass on ; approach not ! " Such desire for food 
was excited by these tempting fruits, that the gluttons were 
emaciated beyond recognition. By his voice alone did 
Dante recognize his kinsman Forese, whose time in Purga- 
tory had been shortened by the prayers of his wife Nella. 
Forese talked with Dante for a while on the affairs of Flor- 
ence, and predicted the fall of his brother Corso Donati. 

The dazzHng splendor of the angel of the seventh terrace 
warned them of his approach, and, lightened of one more 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 277 

"P," Dante and his companions climbed to where two 
bands of spirits, lascivious on earth, moved through paths of 
purifying flames, stopping as they passed to greet each other, 
and singing penitential hymns. Here, Statius explained to 
Dant^ why the shades of the sixth terrace were lean from 
want of food when they possessed no longer their physical 
bodies. " After death the soul keeps its memory, intelli- 
gence, and will more active than before, and as soon as it 
reaches either the banks of Acheron or the Tiber, a shade 
form is attached to it which acquires the soul's semblance, 
and has every sense given it, even that of sight." 

Guido Guinicelli, from out the flame-furnace, explained to 
Dante the punishments of the terrace : " Thus are our base 
appetites burned out that we may enjoy future happiness," 
and Arnaud the Troubadour, hating his past folHes, weeping 
and singing, implored Dante's prayers. It was only by tell- 
ing him that the fire lay between him and Beatrice that 
Vergil prevailed on Dante to walk into the flames, which, 
though they tortured him by the intensity of their heat, did 
not consume even his garments. As they left the fire, the 
sun was setting, and they passed the night on the steps of 
the next terrace, Statius and Vergil watching Dante as the 
goatherds watch their flocks. In a dream the sleeping poet 
saw Leah, symbolical of the active life, in contrast to her 
sister Rachel, of contemplative life. On waking, Vergil told 
him that he would accompany him further, but not as a 
guide ; henceforth his own free will must lead him. 
"Crowned, mitred, now thyself thou 'It rule aright." 

Dense green were the heavenly woodlands of the terrestrial 
])aradise ; sweet were the bird songs, as sweet the songs of 
the whispering foliage ; and on the pleasant mead, beyond 
the dimpling waters of a stream so small that three paces 
would span it, walked a beautiful lady, Matilda, gathering 
flowers and singing an enchanting melody. At Dante's 
request, she came nearer, and explained to him that God 
had created the terrestrial paradise from which man was « 
banished by his fault alone. To vex him it was raised to 
this height. Its atmosphere was not that of the earth below, 



278 NATIONAL EPICS. 

but given it from the free sphere of ether. Here every 
plant had its origin ; here each river had its virtue ; Lethe 
destroyed the memory of sin ; Eunoe restored to the mind 
the memory of things good. 

As they talked, Hosannas were heard, and in the greatest 
splendor appeared the Car of the Church Triumphant. 
First came the seven golden candlesticks ; following them, 
many people in resplendent white garments ; next, the four 
and twenty elders, lily crowned — the twenty-four books of 
the Old Testament — singing to Beatrice " O blessed Thou ! " 
Then four six-winged, many-eyed living creatures described 
both by Ezekiel and John surrounded the massive car drawn 
by the Gryphon, emblem of our Lord in his divine and 
human nature, white, gold, and vermilion-hued, part lion, 
part eagle, whose wings pierced the heavens. 

Three maidens, red, emerald, and white, the Theological 
Virtues, Faith, Hope, and Charity, danced at the right 
wheel of the car ; four clad in purple. Prudence, Justice, 
Fortitude, and Temperance, walked at the left wheel. With 
them came two old men, Luke and Paul ; then four together, 
James, Peter, John, and Jude, and last an aged man walking 
in slumber, Saint John, writer of the Revelation. These last 
were crowned with red roses and other tinted flowers. With 
a crash as of thunder, the car stopped before Dante, and a 
hundred angels, chanting, showered on it roses and hlies. 
In the midst of the shower, Beatrice descended, clad in a 
crimson robe, with a green mantle and a white veil, and 
crowned with an olive wreath. Thrilling with his ancient 
love, Dante turned to Vergil to sustain him, but Vergil was 
gone. As he looked again, her eyes, less severe from the 
veil that enveloped her, were fixed on him as she rebuked 
him, and he was sustained only by the compassion in the 
sweet voices of the angels, which soothed him until the tears 
rained down his cheeks. 

After her death, when she had arisen from flesh to spirit, 
Beatrice complained that her influence was dimmed, and 
that he had sought such depths that she had been compelled 
to go to the gates of hell to implore Vergil to bring him 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 279 

hither that he might learn his future sufferings if he did not 
repent. As he answered her, blaming the things that had 
led him aside with joys deceitful, he tried to gaze into her 
eyes, but stung with penitential thorns, fell senseless to the 
ground. Matilda, who stood by, seized him and plunged 
him into the river Lethe, that he might forget his past sin. 
Dripping, he was given to the four lovely maidens, who led 
him before Beatrice that he might look into her eyes, fixed 
on the Gryphon. A thousand longings held him fast while, 
"weary from ten years' thirsting," he gazed upon her lovely 
eyes, now unveiled in their full splendor. Reproached at 
last by the seven virtues for his too intent gaze, Dante 
watched the car move on to the Tree of Knowledge, to 
which its pole was attached by the Gryphon. Dante, lulled 
to sleep by the hymn, was aroused by Matilda, who pointed 
out to him the radiant Beatrice, sitting under a tree sur- 
rounded by the bright forms of her attendants. The other 
attendants of the car had followed the Gryphon to the skies. 

" Observe the car," said Beatrice, " and write what thou 
hast seen when thou returnest home." As she spoke, the car 
was attacked in turn by the eagle of persecution, the fox of 
heresy, and the dragon of Islamism ; these driven away, it 
was disturbed by inward dissensions, the alliance between 
Boniface and PhiHp the Fair. 

Rising, Beatrice called Dante, Statins, and Matilda to her, 
and as they walked upon that pleasant mead, she asked 
Dante the meaning of his continued silence. She explained 
the attacks on the chariot to him, but he declared that he 
could not understand her language. Then, at Beatrice's 
nod, Matilda called him and Statius, and plunged them into 
Eunoe, whence he rose regenerate, and prepared to mount 
to the stars. 



28o NATIONAL EPICS, 



THE DIVINE COMEDY. 

The Paradise. 

The Paradise of Dante consists of nine heavens, each a re- 
volving crystalline sphere, enclosed in another ; without them, 
the boundless Empyrean. The first or innermost heaven, of 
the Moon, revolved by the angels, is the habitat of wills im- 
perfect through instability. The second, of Mercury, re- 
volved by the Archangels, is the abode of- wills imperfect 
through love of fame. The third, of Venus, revolved by the 
Principalities, is the abode of wills imperfect through excess 
of human love. The fourth, of the Sun, revolved by the 
Powers, is the abode of the great intellectual hghts, the doc- 
tors of the Church. The fifth heaven, of Mars, revolved by 
the Virtues, is the abode of the martyrs, warriors, and con- 
fessors, and is sacred to the Faith. The sixth, of Jupiter, 
revolved by the Dominations, is inhabited by just rulers. 
The seventh, of Saturn, revolved by the Thrones, is inhabited 
by monks and hermits. The eighth, of the Fixed Stars, re- 
volved by the Cherubim, is inhabited by the apostles and 
saints. The ninth, or Primum Mobile, revolved by the 
Seraphim, is the abode of the moral philosophers. These 
abodes, however, are not real, but representative, to illustrate 
the differences in glory of the inhabitants of Paradise, for the 
real seat of each is in the Rose of the Blessed. In the 
heavens, the saints appear swathed in cocoons of light ; in 
the Rose they are seen in their own forms. They know all 
because they behold God continually. In the Empyrean is 
the Rose of the Blessed, whose myriad leaves form the 
thrones of the spirits, and whose centre of light is the Father 
himself. Dividing the Rose horizontally, the lower thrones 
are held by those who died in infancy ; among them are 
varying degrees of glory. Above it, are those who died 
adults. Supposing a vertical division, the thrones to the 
left are for those who looked forward to Christ's coming ; 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 281 

those to the right, not yet all occupied, by those who died 
after Christ's coming. Along the division lines are the holy 
women, the Virgin, Eve, Rachel, Beatrice, Sarah, Rebecca, 
Judith, and Ruth, Saint Anne and Saint Lucia, and the saints, 
John the Baptist, John the Evangelist, Adam, Moses, Saint 
Francis, Saint Benedict, Saint Augustine, Saint Peter, and 
in the midst, the Everlasting Glory of the Universe, whose 
light so fills the Rose that '^ naught can form an obstacle 
against it." 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 
The Paradise. 

The ascent to Paradise was accomplished by a fixed gaze 
into Beatrice's eyes, by which Dante, like Glaucus, was made 
divine, and by which he was lifted, with incredible swiftness, 
through the heavens. As soon as he had fixed his eyes on 
Beatrice's, who in turn looked towards heaven, they found 
themselves in the Heaven of the Moon, whose luminous yet 
pearl-like light enfolded them. While Beatrice was explain- 
ing to him that the spots on the moon were not caused by the 
varying degrees of atmospheric density, as he had supposed, 
but by the Divine Virtue infused in divine measure through 
the angelic dwellers in the first heaven, he met Piccarda, his 
sister-in-law, whose brother, Corso Donati, had torn her from 
her convent to wed her to Rosselin della Tosa, soon after 
which she died. Here also was Costanza, daughter of 
Roger I. of Sicily, grandmother of that Manfredi whom he 
had seen in Purgatory. Here Beatrice instructed Dante as. 
to the imperfection of those wills that held not to their vows, 
but allowed violence to thwart them. 

Another look into the smiling eyes, and the two were in 
the Heaven of Mercury, where those wills abide in whom 
love of fame partly extinguished love of God. One of the 
thousand splendors that advanced towards them was the 
Goul of the Emperor Justinian, who reviewed the Empire, 



282 NATIONAL EPICS. 

the Church, condemning severely the behavior of the 
Guelphs and Ghibellines, and told of the spirits who in- 
habited the little planet, whose lives were sweetened by liv- 
ing justice, and whose ears were gladdened by the sweetest 
harmonies. 

Dante was unaware of his ascent into Venus, where dwelt 
those souls who were lovers on earth, until he perceived 
Beatrice's added beauty. Amid revolving lights Charles 
Martel of Hungary appeared, denounced his brother Robert 
of Sicily, and instructed Dante on the subjects of heredity 
and degeneracy ; that " sweet seed can come bitter " be- 
cause the influence of the star under which the child is born 
can counteract that of the parent, and because his state is 
not always adapted to him by his parents and advisers. 

In the sphere of the Sun, consecrated to the great doctors 
of divinity, Beatrice became still more beautiful ; but so 
absorbed was the poet in the love for the Eternal Source of 
all this splendor that for the first time he forgot her. Out 
of the whirhng lights, shining hke precious jewels, came 
Saint Thomas Aquinas, who pointed out to Dante his noted 
companions, Gratian, Peter Lombard, Solomon, Dionysius, 
Bcethius, and Baeda. Thomas then related the story of 
Saint Francis of Assisi and the founding of his order of the 
Franciscans, upon which Saint Bonaventura of the Francis- 
cans, from the next flame garland, told of Saint Dominic and 
the Dominican order. Alas ! while both orders were great 
in the beginning, both narrators had to censure their present 
corruption. 

The array of brilliant lights, dividing itself, formed into 
two disks which, revolving oppositely, sang the praises of 
the Trinity. The song of praise finished, Saint Thomas 
explained that Solomon was elevated to this sphere for his 
wisdom and his regal prudence, and warned Dante against 
the error of rash judgment. 

The splendor of Mars was almost blinding ; it was ruddier 
than the others, and in it dwelt the souls of the crusaders 
and martyrs. While Dante's ears were ravished by exquisite 
music, his eyes were dazzled by the lights, which had arranged 



k 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 283 

themselves in the form of a cross. From out the splendor, 
one star saluted Dante. It was the soul of his ancestor 
Cacciaguida, who had waited long for the coming of his 
descendant. He related to Dante the story of his Hfe, 
commenting on the difference between the simple life of 
the Florentines of his day and the corrupt practices of Dante's 
time, and broke to the poet what had already been darkly 
hinted to him in Hell and Purgatory, — his banishment ; how 
he must depart from Florence and learn how salt is the 
bread of charity, how wearisome the stairs in the abode of 
the stranger. 

As Cacciaguida ceased and pointed out the other well- 
known dwellers in Mars, each one on the cross flashed as 
his name was called, — Joshua, Judas Maccabeus, Charle- 
magne and Roland, Godfrey of Bouillon, Robert Guiscard, 
and others. 

In Jupiter, whose whiteness contrasted with the ruddiness 
of Mars, dwelt the souls of great rulers, certain of whom 
arranged themselves first to form the golden letters of Diligite 
yustitiam qui judicatis terrain (" Love righteousness, ye 
that be judges of the earth "), and then formed themselves 
into the Roman eagle and sang of the justice and mercy 
that caused their elevation to this position, and of events 
about to occur in history. 

Had Beatrice smiled as they ascended to Saturn, Dante 
would have perished as did Semele, from excess of light. 
In Saturn dwelt the spirits of the contemplative, the monks 
and hermits, and here was Jacob's ladder, up and down 
whose bars of gold sparkled the spirits of the saints, silent 
for the same reason that Beatrice smiled not. By divine elec- 
tion, Saint Peter Damian descended and spoke with Dante, 
accusing the churchmen of the time of worldliness and 
luxury. " Cephas and our Lord came on earth barefoot 
and poorly clad, but these men are covered with gorgeous 
raiment and ride upon sleek palfreys." As he closed, a thun- 
der cry of approval went up from the other saints. 

Up the wonderful ladder passed Dante and his lady into 
the eighth heaven of the Fixed Stars, and looking down saw 



284 NATIONAL EPICS. 

the little earth and the starry heavens through which they 
had passed. Then, as Beatrice paused with her face all 
aflame, and her eyes full of ecstasy, down came the hosts of 
Christ's triumphal march, and within the living light, which 
dazzled Dante's eyes until he could not see, also appeared 
Mary, mother of God, crowned by Gabriel, rising into the 
Empyrean. Of those who remained behind, Beatrice asked 
that Dante be sprinkled with the waters of the living Foun- 
tain ; and while they gave their consent. Saint Peter appeared 
as a fire whirling ecstatically, and singing a divine song. 
He examined the trembling poet on faith, and his questions 
being answered satisfactorily, encircled him thrice with his 
light. Saint James, who next came forth, was likewise pleased 
with his response on Hope, and he was then blinded by the 
effulgence of John, so that for a time he could not see the 
face of his lady. 

Of Love he spoke with John, and then talked with x^dam. 
As he listened to the strains of richest melody, he noticed 
one of the Hghts — Saint Peter — change from white to red, 
and then, as silence fell, speak, enraged at the worldliness 
of the Holy See. " My cemetery has been made a sewer 
of blood and stench. When thou returnest to earth, reveal 
what thou hast heard. Do not thou conceal what I have 
not concealed." 

Commanded by Beatrice, Dante looked back at earth once 
more, and as he looked, was carried up into the heaven of 
the Primum Mobile, where dwelt the moral philosophers. 
Here the angelic spirits circled round the point of intense 
hght, the divine centre. The nearer God was the circle, the 
greater virtue it possessed. This order was inverse to that of 
the heavens, but Dante learned from Beatrice that the orbs 
revolved through narrow paths or wide according to the vir- 
tue of their parts, and that a strict agreement of harmony 
prevailed between the great and the small. The angel and 
the heavens were created simultaneously, and, as direct ema- 
nations from God, know no decay. Of this and many things 
concerning the Creation, did Beatrice enlighten Dante before 
the beauty of her smile told him that they were in the Em- 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 285 

pyrean. *^ Now shalt thou look upon the mighty hosts of 
Paradise." 

The poet's dazzled eyes saw then a river of light from 
which issued living sparks sunk down into the flowers like 
rubies set in gold. Instructed by Beatrice he drank of the 
stream and the river changed into a lake ; then he saw 
the Courts of Heaven made manifest, and the splendor 
of God. The ample Rose unfolded its leaves before him, 
breathing praise and perfume, and as he gazed into it Beatrice 
pointed out the radiant spirits and the thronged seats, one of 
which was reserved for the Emperor Henry of Luxembourg, 
from whom Dante expected so much, and who died before 
aught was accomplished. As Dante gazed, the hosts with 
wings of gold and faces of living flame, singing anthems, 
alternately sank into the Rose, like a swarm of bees sinking 
into summer flowers, and rose again to view the Divine 
splendor. Turning to question Beatrice again, Dante found 
in her place Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, an old man full of the 
tenderest pity, who pointed out to him Beatrice in her own 
place, the third round of the first rank. As from afar, Dante 
pleaded with the beautiful lady who had left her place in 
heaven to go even unto the gates of hell for his sake, to aid 
him still ; she seemed to smile upon him before she again 
turned her gaze upon the Eternal Fountain of Light. Saint 
Bernard explained to the poet the divisions of the Rose and 
the seats of the saints, and then addressed a prayer to the 
Virgin, asking that Dante be permitted to look upon the 
Almighty Father. As he prayed, Beatrice and all the blessed 
ones clasped their hands to her who likes so well prayers of 
divine fervor. At a gesture from Bernard, the poet looked 
upward. Then what a radiant vision met his eyes ! Three 
circles he saw of threefold color and one dimension. As he 
looked, one seemed to take our image, and again was lost 
in the infinite glory of the Light Divine. As he tried to de- 
scribe it, imagination failed him, though his will remained, 
moving on with the even motion of the sun and stars. 



286 NATIONAL EPICS. 

SELECTIONS FROM THE DIVINE COMEDY. 

Count Ugolino. 

In the frozen lake of Cocytus in the ninth circle of the In- 
ferno, where were punished the traitors to kindred, country, 
friends, or benefactors, the poets beheld Count Ugolino, a 
Guelph, who, because of his treachery, was taken prisoner by 
the people with his sons and grandsons and thrust into a tower, 
where they were left to starve. Ugolino was frozen in the 
ice, where he forever gnawed the head of the Archbishop 
Ruggieri, his enemy. At the request of Dante he stopped to 
tell his story. 

" Thy will 'tis I renew 
A desperate sorrow that doth crush my heart 
Even before my lips its tale impart. 
But if my words may be a seed that, sowed, 
Shall fruit of infamy to this traitor bear, 
Then, though I weep, speech too shall be my care. 

" Who thou may'st be I know not, nor what mode 
Hath brought thee here below, but then I glean, 
From words of thine, thou art a Florentine. 

That I Count Ugolino was, know thou, 

And this the Archbishop Ruggieri. Why 
I will thee tell we are such neighbors nigh. 

Needs not to say that him I did allow 

A friend's own trusts, but so his treachery wrought 
That first my liberty, then my life, it sought. 

" But that which thou canst not have hitherto learned 

That is, how cruel was my death, I thee 

Will tell ; judge thou if he offended me. 
Within the Mew, a tower which well hath earned 

From me its name of Famine, and where wrath 

Yet others waits, a narrow opening hath, 
Through which of several moons the broken light 

Had strayed, when unto me in sleep was sent 

A dream whereby the future's veil was rent. 

** This ill dream me this man set forth in might : 

He wolf and whelps upon those mounts pursued 
Which Pisa 'twixt and Lucca's domes obtrude. 

Hounds had he with him, lank and shrewd and keen, 
And in their front Gualandi's sword had place, 
Sismondi's lash and sour Lanfranchi's mace. 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 287 

Father and sons' undoing soon was seen ; 

Methought the sharp fangs on them closed, and tore 
Their flanks, which now the hue of crimson wore. 

" Before the dawn I woke and heard my sons, 

The helpless children with me, in their sleep, 

Cry out for bread, cries pushed from sobbings deep. 
Right cruel art thou, if not e'en now runs 

To tears thy grief at what my heart forbode, 

If tears of thine at misery's tale e'er flowed. 
And then they woke, and came the hour around 

Which had been wont our scanty meal to bring ; 

But from our dreams dumb terrors seemed to spring; 

" When from below we heard the dreadful sound 

Of nails ; the horrible tower was closed ; all dumb 
1 let my gaze into my sons' eyes come. 

Weep I did not, like stone my feelings lay. 

They wept, and spoke my little Anselm : * Pray 
Why lookest so ? Father, what ails thee, say ? ' 

Shed I no tear, nor answered all that day 
Nor the next night, until another sun 
His journey through the wide world had begun. 

" Then came a small ray into our sad, sad den, 

And when in their four faces 1 beheld 

That carking grief which mine own visage held, 
Mine hands for grief I bit, and they, who then 

Deemed that I did it from desire to eat, 

Stood up each one at once upon his feet, 
And said : ' Father, 't will give us much less pain 

If thou wilt eat of us : of thee was born 

This hapless flesh, and be it by thee torn.' 

" Myself I calmed that they might not so grieve ; 
Mute that day and the next we were ; O thou 
Most cruel earth, that didst not open now ! 

When we the fourth day's agony did receive 

Stretched at my feet himself my Gaddo threw. 
And said : ' My father, canst thou nothing do ? ' 

There died he, and, as now sees me thy sight, 
The three I saw fall one by one ; first died 
One on the fifth ; deaths two the sixth me tried. 

" Then blind, I groped o'er them to left and right. 
And for three days called on their spirits dead ; 
Then grief before the power of fasting fled." 

WilstacK's Translation, Inferno. Canto XXXIII. 



288 NATIONAL EPICS. 



BUONCONTE DI MONTEFELTRO. 

On the second terrace of the Ante-Purgatory, on the Purga- 
torial Mount, were the spirits of those whose Uves were ended 
by violence. Among those who here addressed Dante was 
Buonconte di Montefeltro, who was slain in the battle of Cam- 
paldino, and whose body was never found. 

Another then : " Ah, be thy cherished aim 

Attained that to the lofty Mount thee draws, 

As thou with pity shalt advance my cause. 
Of Montefeltro I Buonconte am ; 

Giovanna, and she only, for me cares ; 

Hence among those am I whom waiting wears." 

" What violence or what chance led thee so wide 
From Campaldino," I of him inquired, 
" That 's still unknown thy burial-place retired? " 

" Oh, Casentino's foot," he thus repHed, 

" Archiano's stream o'erfiows, which hath its rise 
Above the Hermitage under Apennine skies. 

There where its name is lost did I arrive, 

Pierced through and through the throat, in flight, 
Upon the plain made with my life-blood bright ; 

" There sight I lost, and did for speech long strive ; 

At last I uttered Mary's name, and fell 

A lifeless form, mine empty flesh a shell. 
Truth will I speak, below do thou it hymn ; 

Took me God's Angel up, and he of Hell 

Cried out : ' O thou from Heaven, thou doest well 
To rob from me the eternal part of him 

For one poor tear, that me of him deprives ; 

In other style I '11 deal with other lives ! ' 

" Well know'st thou how in air is gathered dim 
That humid vapor which to water turns 
Soon as the cold its rising progress learns. 

The fiend that ill-will joined (which aye seeks ill) 
To intellectual power, which mist and wind 
Moved by control which faculties such can find, 

And afterwards, when the day was spent, did fill 
The space from Protomagno to where tower 
The Mounts with fog ; and high Heaven's covering power 



{ 



THE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY. 289 

The pregnant atmosphere moist to water changed. 

Down fell the rain, and to the ditches fled, 

Whate'er of it the soil's thirst had not sped; 
And, as it with the mingling torrents ranged 

Towards the royal river, so it flowed 

That over every obstacle wild it rode. 
The robust river found my stiffened frame 

Near to its outlet, and it gave a toss 

To Arno, loosening from my breast the cross 

" I made of me when agony me o'ercame; 

Along his banks and bottoms he me lapped, 
Then in his muddy spoils he me enwrapped." 

WilstacK's Translation^ Purgatorio^ Canto V. 



Beatrice Descending from Heaven. 

Dante and Vergil mounted to the Terrestial Paradise, where, 
while they talked with Matilda, the Car of the Church Trium- 
phant appeared in the greatest splendor. As it stopped before 
Dante it was enveloped in a shower of roses from the hands of 
a hundred angels. 

I have beheld ere now, when dawn would pale, 

The eastern hemisphere's tint of roseate sheen, 
And all the opposite heaven one gem serene, 

And the uprising sun, beneath such powers 
Of vapory influence tempered, that the eye 
For a long space its fiery shield could try : 

E'en so, embosomed in a cloud of flowers. 

Which from those hands angelical upward played, 
And roseate all the car triumphal made, 

And showered a snow-white veil with ohve bound. 
Appeared a Lady, green her mantle, name 
Could not describe her robe unless 't were flame. 

And mine own spirit, which the past had found 
Often within her presence, free from awe, 
And which could never from me trembling draw. 

And sight no knowledge giving me at this time, 

Through hidden virtue which from her came forth, 
Of ancient love felt now the potent worth. 

As soon as on my vision smote sublime 

The heavenly influence that, ere boyhood's days 
Had fled, had thrilled me and awoke my praise, 

19 



ipo NATIONAL EPICS. 

Unto the leftward turned I, with that trust 
Wherewith a little child his mother seeks, 
When fear his steps controls, and tear-stained cheeks, 

To say to Vergil : " All my blood such gust 

Of feeling moves as doth man's bravery tame ; 
I feel the traces of the ancient flame." 

Wilstadi's Translation, Purgaiorio, Canto XXX. 



The Exquisite Beauty of Beatrice. 

While Dante and Beatrice rose from the Heaven of Primal 
Motion to the Empyrean, the poet turned his dazzled eyes from 
the heavens, whose sight he could no longer bear, to the con- 
templation of Beatrice. 

Wherefore my love, and loss of other view, 
Me back to Beatrice and her homage drew. 
If what of her hath been already said 

Were in one single eulogy grouped, 't would ill 
Her meed of merit at this moment fill. 

The beauty which in her I now beheld 

B'yond mortals goes ; her Maker, I believe, 
Hath power alone its fulness to receive. 

Myself I own by obstacles stronger spelled 
Than in his labored theme was ever bard 
Whose verses, light or grave, brought problems hard; 

For, as of eyes quelled by the sun's bright burst, 
E'en so the exquisite memory of that smile 
Doth me of words and forming mind beguile. 

Not from that day when on this earth I first 
Her face beheld, up to this moment, song 
Have I e'er failed to strew her path along, 

But now I own my Hmping numbers lame ; 

An artist sometimes finds his powers surpassed, 
And mine succumbs to beauty's lance at last. 

And I must leave her to a greater fame 

Than any that my trumpet gives, which sounds, 
Now, hastening notes, which mark this labor's bounds. 

WilstacJi' s Translation, Paradise, Canto XXX. 



i 



i 



THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 

LUDOVICO ARIOSTO, author of the Orlando Furioso 
was born in Reggio, Italy, Sept. 8, 1474. In 1503 he 
was taken into the service of the Cardinal Hippohto d'Este, 
and soon after began the composition of the Orlando Furioso, 
which occupied him for eleven years. It was pubhshed in 
15 16, and brought him immediate fame. Ariosto was so 
unkindly treated by his patron that he left him and entered 
the service of the cardinal's brother, Alfonso, Duke of Fer- 
rara. By him he was appointed governor of a province, in 
which position he repressed the banditti by whom it was 
infested, and after a successful administration of three years, 
returned to Ferrara to reside. The latter part of his life 
was spent in writing comedies and satires, and in revising 
the Orlando Furioso. He died in Ferrara, June 6, 1533. 

The Orlando Furioso is a sequel to Boiardo's Orlando 
Innamorata, Ariosto taking up the story at the end of that 
poem. Its historical basis is the wars of Charlemagne with 
the Moors, which were probably confused with those of 
Charles Martel. As the Orlando of the poem is the same 
Roland whose fall at Roncesvalles in 778 is celebrated in the 
Song of Roland, its events must have occurred before that 
time. 

Although the poem is called Orlando Furioso, Orlando's 
madness occupies a very small part of it, the principal 
threads of the story being Orlando's love for Angelica and 
his consequent madness, the wars of Charlemagne, and the 
loves of Bradamant and Rogero. From this Rogero the 
family of Este claimed to be derived, and for this reason 
Ariosto made Rogero the real hero of the poem, and took 



292 NATIONAL EPICS. 

occasion to lavish the most extravagant praises upon his 
patron and his family. 

With these principal threads are interwoven innumerable 
episodes which are not out of place in the epic, and lend vari- 
ety to a story which would otherwise have become tiresome. 
The lightness of treatment, sometimes approaching ridicule, 
the rapidity of movement, the grace of style, and the clear- 
ness of language, the atmosphere created by the poet which 
so successfully harmonizes all his tales of magic and his occa- 
sional inconsistencies, and the excellent descriptions, have all 
contributed to the popularity of the poem, which is said to 
be the most widely read of the epics. These descriptions 
outweigh its faults, — the taking up the story of Boiardo with- 
out an explanation of the situation, the lack of unity, and 
the failure to depict character; for with the exception of 
Bradamant and Rogero, Ariosto's heroes and heroines 
are very much alike, and their conversation is exceedingly 
tiresome. 

The Furioso is written in the octave stanza, and origi- 
nally consisted of forty cantos, afterwards increased to 
forty- six. 

The poem is the work of a practical poet, one who could 
govern a province. It is marred by an over-profusion of 
ornament, and contains no such lofty flights of fancy as are 
to be found in the Jerusalem Delivered. To this, no doubt, 
it owes, in part at least, its great popularity, for the poet's 
poem is never the people's poem. 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Orlando Furioso. 
Dublin University Magazine, 1845, xxvi., 187-201, 581-601, 
xxvii., 90-104; Retrospective Review, 1823, viii., 145-170, 
ix., 263-291 ; William T. Dobson's Classic Poets, 1879, 
pp. 186-238 ; Leigh Hunt's Stories from the Itahan Poets, 
n. d. vol. ii., pp. 134-151 ; WiUiam Hickling Prescott's 
Italian Narrative Poetry. (See his Biographical and Critical 
Miscellanies, 1873, pp. 441-454); M. W. Shelley's Lives 
of the most eminent Literary and Scientific Men of Italy, 
Spain, and Portugal, 1835, pp. 239-255. (In Lardner's 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 293 

Cabinet Cyclopedia^ vol. i.) ; John Addington Symonds's 
Italian Literature, 1888, vol. i., pp. 493-522, vol. ii. 
pp. 1-50- 

Standard English Translations, the Orlando Furioso. 
Orlando Furioso, Tr. from the Italian by Sir James Harring- 
ton, 1724; Orlando Furioso, Tr. by John Hoole, 1819; 
Orlando Furioso, Tr. into English verse by W. S. Rose, 
2 vols., 1864-5. 



2 94 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 

The Emperor Charlemagne was at war with the Moors 
and had camped near the Pyrenees with his host, deter- 
mined to conquer their leaders, MarsiHus of Spain and 
Agramant of Africa. To his camp came Orlando, the great 
paladin, with the beautiful Angelica, princess of Cathay, in 
search of whom he had roamed the world over. Orlando's 
cousin, Rinaldo, another of the great lords of Charlemagne, 
also loved Angelica, for he had seen her immediately after 
drinking of the Fountain of Love in the forest of Arden, 
and Charlemagne, fearing trouble between the cousins on 
her account, took Angelica from Orlando's tent and placed 
her in the care of Duke Namus of Bavaria. 

Angelica did not Hke Orlando and she loathed Rinaldo, 
for he had been the first to meet her after she had tasted 
the waters of the Fountain of Hate. So when the Christian 
forces were one day routed in battle and the tents forsaken, 
she leaped on her palfrey and fled into the forest. Here 
the first person she met was the hated Rinaldo \ and fleeing 
from him she encountered the fierce Moor Ferrau, who, 
being also in love with her, drew his sword and attacked 
the pursuing paladin. But when the two discovered that 
Angelica had taken advantage of their duel to flee, they 
made peace and went in search of her. 

As she fled, Angelica met Sacripant, an eastern lover who 
had followed her to France, and put herself under his pro- 
tection. But when Sacripant was first defeated by Brada- 
mant and then engaged in battle with the pursuing Rinaldo, 
she deemed herself safer without him and fled ; and presently 
a page appeared, a shade conjured there by a hermit ma- 
gician whom Angelica had met, and announced to the 
warriors that Orlando had appeared and carried the maid 
to Paris. 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 



295 



Rinaldo immediately hastened to Paris, to find Orlando 
absent and Charlemagne, defeated by the Moors, entrench- 
ing himself in the city and preparing to send to England 
for aid. Rinaldo must be his ambassador, and that without 
a day's delay. 

Frantic with jealousy, Rinaldo leaped into a ship in the 
midst of a storm, and hastened on his errand. Driven upon 
the coast of Scotland, he won the king's gratitude by saving 
his daughter Ginevra from shame and death, and secured 
from him a promise of all the horsemen and arms that 
could be spared. He was equally successful in England, 
and was soon reviewing the troops preparatory to their 
embarkation. 

The warrior maid, Bradamant, sister of Rinaldo, after 
overthrowing Sacripant, pursued her way through the forest 
in search of Rogero the pagan. They had met once in 
battle and had loved, and since then she had ever roamed 
through the land in search of him. In the forest she found 
Pinabel, lamenting because his beloved lady had been 
snatched from him by a wizard on a winged steed, and 
carried to an impregnable castle. Thither he had seen 
many warriors conveyed, among them Rogero and Gradasso, 
conquered first by the lance and then thrown into profound 
slumber by the glare of a magic shield carried by the 
wizard. 

Bradamant, anxious to save Rogero, offered to rescue 
Pinabel's lady if he would guide her to the castle. But 
when the treacherous knight learned that she was Brada- 
mant, between whose house and his there was a deadly 
feud, he planned to slay her, and soon, by his treachery, 
managed to hurl her down a precipice. 

Bradamant was only stunned by the fall, however, and 
soon awoke, to find herself at the entrance of a cave, which 
was the tomb of Merlin. Melissa, the prophetess maid, 
welcomed her, assured her that Rogero should be her 
spouse, and showed her their phantom descendants, brave 
princes and beautiful princesses of the house of Este. She 
then told her that Brunello, a knight of King Agramant, 



296 NATIONAL EPICS. 

was hastening to the castle to release the prisoners by means 
of a magic ring, formerly the property of Angelica, which 
when put in the mouth would render one invisible, and, 
worn on the finger, made one proof against magic spells. 
Bradamant must overcome Brunello, wrest the ring from 
him, and herself free Rogero. 

Following Melissa's advice, Bradamant overtook Brunello, 
seized the ring, and hastening to the castle, challenged 
Atlantes to battle. When he displayed the shield she pre- 
tended to become unconscious ; but when he ran up to bind 
her she sprang up and seized him. He declared that he had 
imprisoned Rogero, his nephew, only to save him from the 
fate foretold by the stars, death by treachery at the hands 
of the Christians, and had brought the other knights and 
ladies there for his entertainment. Then Atlantes broke 
the spell and disappeared, together with the castle, and the 
prisoners trooped forth, Rogero among them. 

Bradamant was happy, but alas ! only for a moment ; for 
as she and Rogero went down the mountain together he 
thoughtlessly leaped on the hippogrif, which alighted near 
him, and the winged steed, refusing his control, rose in the 
air, leaving the tearful Bradamant behind. The hippogrif 
flew rapidly over land and sea until it was directly above a 
small island, upon which it descended. Rogero sprang from 
its back, tied it to a myrtle tree, and, weary from his three 
thousand mile ride in heavy armor, prepared to drink from 
a rippling spring. The groves were of cedar, laurel, palm, 
and myrtle ; roses and liHes filled the air with their perfume, 
and the wild stag and timid hare ran fearlessly through the 
groves. As he stooped to drink he heard a voice issuing 
from the myrtle to which he had tied the hippogrif. It was 
that of Astolpho, the English knight, who told him that the 
greater part of the island was under the control of Alcina the 
enchantress, who had left only a small portion to her sister 
Logistilla, to whom it all rightfully belonged. He himself 
had been enticed thither by Alcina, who had loved him for 
a few weeks, and then, serving him as she did all her lovers, 
had transformed him to a tree. 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 



297 



Rogero determined to profit by this advice ; but when he 
was driven from the narrow path to Logistilla's domain and 
met Alcina he fell under the power of her beauty, and 
thought Astolpho a traducer. The days passed so gayly in 
her beautiful home that Rogero forgot the pagan cause, for- 
got his duty, forgot Bradamant, and was roused from his 
lethargy only by Melissa, to whom Bradamant had given the 
magic ring to enable her to find and rescue her lover. 
Melissa found the young knight when apart from Alcina, and 
gave him the ring that he might with it be enabled to see 
the enchantress in her true form. She then instructed him 
how to escape and seek the kingdom of Logistilla. Rogero 
was disgusted when the beautiful enchantress appeared as a 
hideous, wrinkled old woman, but concealing his change of 
feehng, waited until the opportunity presented itself to get 
his armor, take a steed, and pass by the warders of the gate. 
With great difficulty he reached a stream which separated 
Alcina's lands from those of Logistilla, and while ferrying 
across was overtaken by the boats of Alcina. With the help 
of Adantes' shield, they were overcome, and Alcina was 
forced to depart, weeping, with only one boat, while Rogero 
entered the castle of the fairy Logistilla, from whom he 
learned many noble lessons. 

Here came the other knights freed from Alcina's enchant- 
ment by Melissa, and Melissa herself with Astolpho, on 
the hippogrif, which she had learned to control. Astolpho 
was in his own armor and bore his wondrous spear, which 
had the power of overthrowing every one whom it so much 
as touched. 

After a short rest among the pleasant gardens of Logis- 
tilla, Rogero departed on the hippogrif, and although anxious 
to see his Bradamant again, took the opportunity to pass 
over all the known world by this novel method of travel. 
He saw the troops in England gathering to go to the aid of 
Charlemagne, and rescued the beautiful Angelica, who had 
been taken by pirates and sold to the people of Ebuda, who 
chained her upon a rock as a victim for the ore. Rogero 
put the ore to sleep with his magic shield, giving Angelica 



298 NATIONAL EPICS. 

the ring that the sight of the shield might not affect her as 
well. But when, charmed by the maid, he became too 
lover-like in his attentions, she put the ring in her mouth 
and disappeared. The angry Rogero turned, only to find 
that his hippogrif had broken its rein and was gone. Hasten- 
ing through the forest, vexed with himself and the maiden, 
he fancied he saw Bradamant carried off by a giant, and 
following her, entered a magic castle of Atlantes, where he 
spent his days vainly trying to overtake his beloved and her 
captor. 

Orlando could think only of his lost Angelica ; and forget- 
ful of the fact that his uncle Charlemagne was sorely pressed 
by the heathen, he stole from the camp one night in dis- 
guise, and went in search of her. Passing the isle of Ebuda 
he slew the ore, rescued Olympia, who was exposed as its 
victim, avenged her wrongs, and continued on his way until 
he reached the castle of Atlantes, and, fancying he saw 
Angelica, entered, and began the mad round of pursuit with 
many other Christian and pagan knights who were rendered 
unconscious of one another's presence by the magic of the 
wizard. 

Hither came Angelica, invisible by means of the ring, to 
find a knight to protect her on her way to Cathay. Unfor- 
tunately as she showed herself to Sacripant, she was seen by 
Ferrau and Orlando, and all three pursued her from the 
castle. When they were sufficiently removed from it 
Angehca slipped the ring in her mouth and disappeared, and 
Ferrau and Orlando began to quarrel about Orlando's hel- 
met, which the Moor was determined to win and wear. As 
Ferrau wore no helm until he could win Orlando's, that 
paladin hung his on a tree while they fought. Unseen by 
them, Angelica took it down, intending to restore it to 
Orlando later, and slipped away. When the knights dis- 
covered her absence they went in search of her, and Ferrau, 
coming upon her, took the helmet as she disappeared in 
fright. Orlando, assuming another crest, which he did not 
need, as his body was charmed and could not be hurt by 
any weapon, went forward, still in search of his love, and on 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 299 

the way encountered and almost totally destroyed two 
squadrons of Moors, and rescued from a robber's cave the 
beautiful Isabel, betrothed of Zerbino. 

Mehssa returned to Bradamant with the news that while 
Rogero was freed from the enchantment of Alcina, he was 
imprisoned in Atlantes' castle, from which she herself could 
rescue him by slaying the wizard, who would appear to her in 
the form of her lover. Bradamant resolved to do so ; but 
when she saw the seeming Rogero set upon by two giants, 
she forgot her resolution, beheved Mehssa to be false, and 
spurnng after him, became a prisoner in that wondrous 
castle, through which day and night she pursued her ever- 
fleeing lover. 

When the Moors discovered the destruction of the two 
squadrons, Mandricardo, the Tartar king, determined to seek 
and do battle with the knight (unknown to him by name) 
who had wrought such destruction. The Tartar wore the 
arms of Hector save the sword, which was the property of 
Orlando, and until he gained it, he bore no weapon save the 
lance. With this, however, he stormed through the battle- 
field, striking terror to the hearts of all. With it alone, 
he destroyed a band of men conveying to Rodomont, the 
Saracen chief, his betrothed bride, Dorahce, and won the 
maid for himself. 

Outside Paris raged the infidel, chief among them the 
giant King Rodomont. Smiting those of his troops who 
hesitated to mount the scaling ladders, he waded through 
the wet moat, scaled the first wall, leaped the dry ditch, 
mounted the second wall, and ran alone through the city, 
spreading terror, death, and fire, while Charlemagne, ignorant 
of his presence, was busied in the defence of one of the 
gates against Agramant. 

Now Rinaldo's army approached, unsuspected by the 
heathen, because of the aid of Silence, summoned by Saint 
Michael. Through these, welcomed by Charlemagne, 
Rodomont cut his way, hewing down fifteen or twenty foes 
at once, and, casting himself into the Seine, escaped, angry 
that he had not succeeded in destroying the city. 



300 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Discord, also summoned by Michael to the aid of the 
Christians, informed Rodomont on his return to the camp 
of the capture of Dorahce, and the chief set forth raging, 
in search of Mandricardo, thoughdessly abandoning King 
Agramant, struggling against the English re-inforcements. 
As night fell on a furious battle, the Moors were driven back, 
and Charlemagne pitched his tents without the city, opposite 
those of the Moors. 

In the Moorish camp were two youths who loved one 
another with a love passing wonderful, Medoro and Clori- 
dan. Both served Dardinello, and had crossed the sea with 
him. As they stood on guard that night they talked of their 
lord's death on the field that day, and Medoro suggested 
that they go in search of his body and bury it. Cloridan 
agreed, and they crept through the sleeping hnes of the 
Christians, slaughtering many, found the body, and were 
hurrying into the forest when they heard the troops of Zer- 
bino. Cloridan fled, fancying that Medoro would do the 
same, but on finding himself unaccompanied, retraced his 
footsteps, only to see his friend surrounded by a troop of 
horsemen. From his ambush he shot his arrows at the foe, 
until Zerbino in wrath seized Medoro by the throat, ex- 
claiming, " Thou shalt die for this ! " But when Medoro 
prayed to be allowed first to bury his lord, pity touched 
Zerbino, and he freed the youth, who fell, however, wounded 
by a thrust from a churlish horseman, in pursuit of whom 
Zerbino at once fled. Cloridan sprang in among the horse- 
men and fell dead by their thrusts at the side of the uncon- 
scious Medoro. 

The bleeding youth was found by Angelica, who passed 
by, clad in rustic raiment ; and the maid, struck with his 
beauty, recalled her knowledge of chirurgery and revived 
him. After Dardinello was buried, she and a shepherd as- 
sisted Medoro to a neighboring cottage, where she attended 
him until his wound was healed. But as he grew well, An- 
gelica, who had scorned the suit of the proudest knights, fell 
sick of love for the humble youth, and resolved to take him 
with her to Cathay. 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 



301 



When Astolpho left the castle of Logistilla he carried with 
him as her gift a book from which he could learn to over- 
come all magic cheats, and a horn whose sound would put 
the boldest man to flight. Following her directions, he sailed 
past Scythia and India into the Persian Gulf, and there dis- 
embarking, passed through Arabia and along the Red Sea. 
There he overcame the giant Caligorantes, slew Orillo, who 
guarded the outlet of the Nile, and met there the brother 
knights Gryphon and Aquilant. Gryphon, led astray by an 
unworthy love, stole away from his brother, but was found 
again after many adventures, and the three, together with 
Sansonet and Marphisa, a warlike virgin, embarked for 
France. A great storm arose, and the vessel was forced to 
land in Syria. This was the land of the Amazons, and the 
troop escaped only by the warning and assistance of Guido, 
the savage, who was a bondsman in the land. 

Astolpho became separated from the rest of the party and 
reached Europe alone. One day, while he was stooping to 
drink at a spring in the forest, a rustic sprang from a thicket, 
and leaping upon Rabican, rode him away. Astolpho, has- 
tening after him, entered the enchanted castle of Atlantes, 
and soon recognized it as a house of magic. He broke the 
spell by the aid of his book, freed the captive knights, and 
finding the hippogrif, which he had learned to guide from 
Melissa, mounted it and rode away. 

When the castle was destroyed, Rogero recognized Brad- 
amant and clasped her in his arms, rejoicing to find her 
again. The maid, anxious to avoid further separation, prom- 
ised to wed him if he would become a Christian, and demand 
her of her father, Duke Aymon. Rogero gladly promised 
to do so, and the two were hastening to Vallombrosa that he 
might be baptized when they encountered a maid, who prayed 
them to hasten to the relief of a youth doomed to death by 
fire. They hurried on, but paused to free Guido the savage. 
Gryphon. Aquilant, and Sansonet, who had been imprisoned 
by Pinahel, and Bradamant, pursuing Pinabel into the forest, 
slew him. But there, unfortunately, she lost her way, and 
while she was wandering about, Rogero, ignorant of her 



302 NATIONAL EPICS. 

whereabouts, pushed on and freed the youth, who proved 
to be Bradamant's brother. 

As Bradamant wandered through the forest she found As- 
tolpho, who had just made a bridle for the hippogrif, and 
recognizing him, took his horse and spear in charge. A long 
time she wandered forlorn. She did not know the way to 
Vallombrosa; she did not know the whereabouts of Rogero. 
Her home was in sight, but if her mother saw her she would 
not again be suffered to depart. As she stood debating with 
herself, she was recognized by one of her brothers, and was 
forced to accompany him home. Thence she secretly sent 
her maid Hippalca to Vallombrosa with Rogero's horse 
Frontino, and a message explaining her absence. 

After the capture of Doralice, Mandricardo hastened on, 
and overtook Orlando just as he had freed Zerbino and 
united him to Isabel. Recognizing Orlando by his crest as 
the chief who had destroyed the squadrons, the Tartar chal- 
lenged him to combat. In courtesy to his foe, who would 
bear no sword until he could have Durindana, Orlando hung 
the blade on a tree, and the two knights spurred their steeds 
and broke their lances together. Then grappling, each en- 
deavored to unhorse the other. The breaking of Orlando's 
saddle girth caused his fall just as he had slipped the bridle 
from the head of his enemy's horse, and the frightened steed, 
freed from its rein, ran madly through the wood, followed by 
Doralice. 

Orlando told Zerbino to inform Mandricardo if he over- 
took him that he would wait in that spot three days for him 
to return and renew the combat, and bade the lovers fare- 
well. As he wandered through the region while waiting, he 
found a peaceful little spot where a hmpid rill rippled through 
a meadow dotted here and there with trees. Here the weary 
warrior sought repose ; but as he looked about him he espied 
the name of Angelica carved on the trees, entwined with 
that of Medoro. Persuading himself that this was a fanciful 
name by which the maid intended to signify himself, he en- 
tered a little ivy-covered grotto, arching over a fountain, and 
there discovered on the rocky wall some verses in which 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 



303 



Medoro celebrated his union with Angelica. For a moment 
he stood as if turned to stone. Unable to weep, he again 
mounted his horse and sought a peasant's house to pass the 
night. There he heard the story of Angelica's infatuation, 
and saw the bracelet she had left them in return for their 
hospitality. The unhappy Orlando passed a sleepless night, 
weeping and groaning, and the next morning hastened to the 
forest that he might give way to his grief unobserved. There 
madness came upon him, and he uprooted the hateful trees, 
cut the solid stone of the grotto with his sword, making a 
desolation of the beautiful spot, and, casting off his armor, 
ran naked through the country, pillaging, burning, and 
slaying. 

Zerbino and Isabel sought the spot in a few days to learn 
if Mandricardo had returned, found the scattered armor, 
and heard of Orlando's madness from a shepherd. Lament- 
ing over their protector's misfortune, they gathered up the 
armor, hung it on a sapling, and wrote thereon Orlando's 
name. But while they were thus engaged, Mandricardo 
arrived, took the long coveted sword, and gave Zerbino, 
who attempted to prevent the theft, a mortal wound. The 
unhappy Isabel, intent on self-destruction, was comforted by 
a hermit, who promised to take her to a monastery near 
Marseilles. 

Mandricardo had had but a few moments for repose after 
this combat with Zerbino, when the furious Rodomont over- 
took him and a terrible combat between the two began, the 
beautiful cause of it looking on with interest. But so strong 
were the champions that the struggle might have been pro- 
longed indefinitely had not a messenger announced to the 
knights that they must postpone their private quarrels for a 
moment and hasten to the relief of King Agramant. 

After Rogero had freed Richardetto, Bradamant's brother, 
and had attempted in vain to find Bradamant, he was 
troubled by the thought of King Agramant. He was deter- 
mined to wed the warrior maid and become a Christian, but 
first came his vow to the pagan king. He therefore wrote 
her a note, saying that honor required his presence with Agra- 



304 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



mant for at least fifteen or twenty days, but after that time he 
would find means to justify himself with Agramant and 
would meet her at Vallombrosa to be baptized. 

He, with Richardetto, Aldigier, and Marphisa, whom they 
met on her way to the pagan camp, rode on together, and 
freed Vivian and Malagigi from the Moors and Manganese. 
While they rested at a little fountain, Hippalca rode up, and 
told them that she had just met Rodomont, who took Fron- 
tino from her. She also managed secretly to give Rogero 
Bradamant's message and receive his letter in return. 

While the party still remained at the fountain, Rodomont 
came up with Mandricardo and Doralice, and all engaged in 
a fierce battle, which was at last interrupted by Malagigi, who, 
versed in wizard arts, conjured a demon into Doralice's 
horse so that it ran away ; and Rodomont and Mandricardo, 
frightened by her screams, started in pursuit. 

With the assistance of Rogero, Marphisa, Rodomont, and 
Mandricardo, Agramant was enabled to drive Charlemagne 
back into Paris, where he was saved only by the interposition 
of Discord, who stirred up the old quarrels between Rodo- 
mont, Mandricardo, Rogero, and Gradasso over weapons, 
bearings, and horses, until Agramant announced that they 
should settle their difficulties by single combat, drawing lots 
to see who should first engage in battle. But when they 
were ready for the lists, fresh quarrels broke out, until the 
king despaired of ever having peace in his ranks. Finally, 
at his command, Dorahce pubHcly declared Mandricardo 
her choice, and the furious Rodomont fled from the camp. 
On his way to Africa he found a little abandoned church be- 
tween France and Spain, and decided to remain there in- 
stead of returning home. From this spot he saw Isabel on 
her way to Marseilles, and falling in love with her, he slew 
the hermit, dragged her to his retreat, and tried to win her. 
But she, loathing him and faithful to Zerbino, caused him to 
slay her, pretending that she was rendered invulnerable by 
an ointment which she had prepared, and the secret of 
which she would impart to him. The unhappy Rodomont 
walled up the church to form her tomb, and threw a narrow 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 



305 



bridge across the stream. On this bridge he met every 
knight who came thither, and having overthrown him, took 
his arms to deck the tomb, on which he determined to hang 
a thousand such trophies. If the vanquished knight was a 
Moor he was set free without his arms ; if a Christian he 
was imprisoned. Thither came the mad Orlando, and 
wrestled with Rodomont on the bridge until both fell into 
the stream. The madman then passed on through the coun- 
try and met Medoro and Angelica on their way to India. 
They escaped with difficulty, Medoro's horse falling a victim 
to the madman, who continued to lay waste the land until 
he reached Zizera on the bay of Gibraltar, and, plunging 
into the sea, swam to Africa. 

After Doralice had decided the quarrel between Mandri- 
cardo and Rodomont, Rogero and the Tartar met in the 
Hsts to decide their quarrel over their bearings. The battle 
was fearful, and when both fell to the ground it was supposed 
that Mandricardo was the victor. But when the crowd 
rushed to the lists they found the Tartar dead and Rogero 
only wounded. But the cheers of the crowd gave little 
pleasure to the hero, who grieved that he must lie on a sick- 
bed instead of seeking Bradamant, according to his promise. 
Bradamant too, who had looked forward so eagerly to the 
day he had set, wept when it came without her lover. Soon 
she heard that Rogero's coming was prevented by his 
wounds ; but when she also heard that he was attended by 
the warrior maid Marphisa, and that their names were fre- 
quently coupled in the pagan camp, she at once felt the 
pangs of jealousy. Unable to endure it longer, she armed 
herself, changing her usual vest for one whose colors de- 
noted her desperation and desire to die, and set forth to 
meet and slay Marphisa, taking with her the spear left her 
by Astolpho, whose magic properties she did not know. 
With this she overthrew Rodomont and caused him to 
depart from his tomb and free his captives, and then, pro- 
ceeding to Aries, challenged Rogero, who was sadly puzzled, 
not recognizing his challenger on account of her changed 
vest. Several knights attacked her before Rogero came 



3o6 NATIONAL EPICS. 

forth, only to be overthrown by the spear, and then Marphisa, 
who had rushed forth before Rogero could arm, met her, 
and the two women fought like tigers. When Rogero at 
last went forth he recognized Bradamant's voice, and sus- 
pecting the cause of her hostility, implored her to withdraw 
with him to a wood near by to hear his explanation. Mar- 
phisa followed them and attacked Bradamant so fiercely that 
Rogero was forced to her rescue, and lifting his sword would 
have struck the maid had he not been stopped by a voice 
from a tomb near by. It was that of Atlantes, who an- 
nounced to Rogero and Marphisa that they were brother 
and sister, children of Rogero of Pisa and Gahciella ; that 
Rogero had been treacherously slain and his town betrayed 
to Almontes, who cast Gahciella adrift on the sea. Atlantes 
rescued her, and took her children when she died ; but 
Marphisa was stolen from him by a band of Arabs. 

From this speech it was plainly the duty of Rogero and 
Marphisa to espouse the cause of Charlemagne and take 
arms against Agramant, who was their enemy. Bradamant 
and Marphisa then embraced, bade Rogero farewell, and 
proceeded to Charlemagne's camp, where Marphisa was re- 
ceived with honor and baptized, while Rogero promised to 
follow them as soon as he could find an excuse to leave 
Agramant. 

When Astolpho left Bradamant in the forest, he quickly 
rose in the air and passed rapidly over the kingdoms of the 
world, Aragon, Navarre, Cadiz, Egypt, Morocco, Fez, over 
the sandy desert until he reached the kingdom of Nubia, 
whose king he rescued from the harpies by the sound of 
his magic horn. Then, mounted on his hippogrif again, he 
rose to the terrestrial Paradise, where he was welcomed by 
John, who informed him that he was sent thither by the 
grace of God that he might get instruction how to furnish 
aid to Charles and the Church, who were sorely in need of 
it. With John he rose in a chariot to the Heaven of the 
Moon, where, after seeing many strange things, he was given 
the wits of Orlando enclosed in a vial. They had been 
taken from him as a punishment for his loving a pagan, but 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 



3^1 



were now to be restored to him that he might aid Charle- 
magne in conquering the Moors. Astolpho then descended 
to Nubia, restored sight to its king, and asking for his forces, 
went with them into Africa and attacked Biserta, the city of 
Agramant. 

When these tidings were borne to Agramant he was 
gready troubled, and desiring to end the war in Europe and 
hasten to his own country, he proposed to Charlemagne 
that the war be decided by single combat between two 
champions. Great was the agony of Rogero, the pagan 
champion, when he recognized in his opponent Rinaldo, 
the brother of Bradamant. He would never dare to slay 
him, so he parried the blows rained upon him, and struck 
back so feebly that the spectators, not understanding his 
motives, deemed him unable to cope with Rinaldo. But 
Melissa, determined that Merlin's prophecy should come 
true, appeared to Agramant in the guise of Rodomont, and 
urged him to break the compact and fall upon the Christians. 
Delighted to have the mighty king with him again, Agra- 
mant did not scruple to break his word, and rushed upon 
the Christian forces, breaking up the combat. After a sharp 
conflict, the Saracens were put to flight and Agramant 
hastened into Africa. 

His people in Biserta, their strength drained by the long war, 
were unable to withstand the Christian foe, soon re-enforced 
by a powerful enemy. One day, as Astolpho and his friends 
were standing on the beach, a madman came raging towards 
them, whom Astolpho recognized as Orlando. The warriors 
attempted in vain to hold him until Astolpho ordered the 
ship's hawsers to be brought, and knotting them flung them 
at the count's limbs, and so threw him down and tied him. 
Then, after having had his body cleansed from mud and filth, 
he stopped his mouth with herbs so that he could breathe 
only through his nostrils, and holding the vial there, the lost 
senses were quickly inhaled, and Orlando was himself again, 
astonished and delighted to find himself with his friends. 

With Orlando's help, Biserta was soon taken, and Agra- 
mant, who had met the Christian fleet under the leadership 



3o8 NATIONAL EPICS. 

of Dudon and had barely escaped with his life, saw from afar 
the flames devouring his beloved city. 

Landing with Sobrino upon a little isle, he found there 
King Sericane, who advised him to challenge the Christians 
to single combat in order to decide the outcome of the 
war, he, Gradasso, and Sobrino to stand in the lists against 
three Christian champions. Orlando agreed to do so, and 
selected for his companions in the fight Brandimart and 
Ohvier. But the pagans were no match for Orlando, whom 
no weapon could injure, and Agramant and Gradasso soon 
fell, while Sobrino was wounded. But the joy over the 
Christian victory was not unalloyed by sorrow, for Olivier 
was severely wounded and the beloved Brandimart was slain. 

The champions were now joined by Rinaldo, who after 
the breaking of the pact by Agramant, had set off for India 
in search of Angelica, whom he still madly loved. But Dis- 
dain guided his steps to the Fountain of Hate, one draught 
of which changed his love to loathing, so that he abandoned 
his undertaking and hastened to join the Christian forces 
in Africa. 

Olivier's wound proved slow to heal, and when at last the 
warriors heard of a hermit on a lonely isle who could help 
him, they hastened to take their wounded comrade thither. 
There they found Rogero, who had been shipwrecked while 
sailing to Africa, and had been baptized by the hermit, who 
was warned in a dream of his coming. The Christian war- 
riors gladly welcomed Rogero to their ranks, for they knew 
of his valor ; and Rinaldo, who had learned how the young 
hero had saved the life of Richardetto and had preserved 
Vivian and Malagigi, embraced him, and at the suggestion 
of the hermit, plighted him to his sister. Before they left 
the isle, Sobrino was converted by the pious hermit, and 
OHvier's wound was healed. 

The knights were received with the greatest honor by 
Charlemagne, especially Rogero, the new convert. But 
what unhappiness awaited him ! In his absence Bradamant's 
father had promised the maid to Leo, the son of the Greek 
emperor, Constantine, in spite of her prayers and entreaties. 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO, 309 

Although Bradamant declared that she would die sooner 
than wed another, the heart-broken Rogero hastily departed 
for Constantinople to slay his rival. In his absence, Brada- 
mant besought Charlemagne not to compel her to marry Leo 
unless he could defeat her in single combat ; and her angry 
parents, on learning of this, took her from the court and 
shut her up in the tower of Rocca Forte. Rogero, in the 
mean time, reached Leo's realms just as the Greeks engaged 
in battle with the Bulgarians. Because of his hatred for 
Leo, he fought with the Bulgarians, and when their king fell 
he rallied their scattered troops and put the Greeks to 
flight. Rogero then followed the fleeing Greeks unaccom- 
panied, and being recognized, was taken captive that night 
as he slept in a hostelry. At the entreaty of a kinswoman 
whose son Rogero had slain that day, the emperor surren- 
dered his captive to her, and he was thrust into a gloomy 
dungeon, where he suffered agonies from hunger and cold. 
But Leo, who had admired his valor in battle and had 
longed to know him, rescued him, recovered his horse and 
armor, and by his generosity compelled Rogero to admire 
him as much as he had before hated him. The news of 
Charlemagne's decree now reached Leo, and he, fearing to 
fight Bradamant, asked the unknown knight of the unicorn 
to take his place. Rogero's heart sank within him, but he 
dared not refuse. His life was Leo's, and he must sacrifice 
himself for him, must either slay Bradamant, or be slain by 
her for his deliverer's sake. He accompanied Leo to 
France, and feigning a cheerfulness he did not feel, changed 
armor and steed that he might not be known, and, while 
Leo remained in his tent outside the city, entered the lists 
and encountered Bradamant, who was determined to slay 
her hated suitor. Rogero was equally determined not to 
slay her nor to allow himself to be conquered. When twi- 
light fell and king and court saw that while the young knight 
had not overcome the maid, he had not allowed himself 
to be overcome, they declared that the couple were well 
matched and that they should wed. 

The hopeless Rogero hastened back to Leo's camp, 



3IO 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



changed armor and steed, and during the night stole away 
from the hateful place to the greenwood that he might die 
there, since he could never possess his beloved. At the 
same time, Bradamant gave way to her grief in such a 
manner that Marphisa, already indignant at the treatment of 
her brother, appeared before the king in his behalf. She 
declared that Rogero and Bradamant had already exchanged 
all the vows of those who marry and therefore she was not 
free to wed another. She then suggested that since the 
matter had gone so far, Leo and Rogero should meet in the 
lists to decide to whom the lady belonged. 

Leo at once set out in search of his knight of the unicorn, 
who he believed would defend him from all peril, and found 
him in the forest, almost fainting from fasting and sleep- 
lessness. The Greek embraced Rogero tenderly and im- 
plored him to betray the cause of his grief, and so tender 
were his words and so gracious his manner that Rogero 
could not but unbosom himself. And when Leo learned 
that his unknown champion was no other than Rogero him- 
self he declared that he would gladly forego Bradamant for 
him, and would rather have forfeited his life than caused 
such grief to such a faithful friend. 

Joy filled the court when the story of Rogero's fidelity 
was made known, and the joy was increased when ambassa- 
dors came from Bulgaria, seeking the unknown knight of 
the unicorn that they might offer their throne to him. Duke 
Aymon and his wife were reconciled when they found that 
Rogero was to be a king, and the wedding was celebrated 
with the greatest splendor, Charlemagne providing for Brad- 
amant as though she were his daughter. 

In the midst of the celebrations Rodomont appeared to 
defy Rogero, and that knight, nothing loath, met him in the 
lists. The Moor fell under Rogero's blows, and all the 
Christian court rejoiced to see the last of the pagan knights 
fall by the hand of their champion. 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 311 

SELECTION FROM THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 

The Death of Zerbino. 

As Orlando talked with Zerbino, whose life he had saved and 
to whom he had given his lady Isabel, also rescued by him, 
Mandricardo the Tartar king came up and challenged Orlando 
to single combat. While they fought, Mandricardo's steed, 
from which Orlando had slipped the rein, became unmanageable, 
and fled with its rider. Orlando asked Zerbino and Isabel to 
tell Mandricardo, if they overtook him, that he would wait for 
him in that place for three days to renew the battle. But while 
waiting, Orlando learned of Angelica's love for Medoro, and 
losing his senses from grief, threw away his armor, and went 
wandering through France. Zerbino and Isabel returned to the 
place to see if Mandricardo had returned, and there learned of 
Orlando's condition. 

Far off, he [Zerbino] saw that something shining lay, 
And spied Orlando's corselet on the ground ; 
And next his helm ; but not that head-piece gay 
Which whilom African Almontes crowned ; 
He in the thicket heard a courser neigh, 
And, lifting up his visage at the sound, 
Saw Brigliadoro the green herbage browse. 
With rein yet hanging at his saddle-bows. 

For Durindane, he sought the greenwood, round, 
Which separate from the scabbard met his view ; 
And next the surcoat, but in tatters, found ; 
That, in a hundred rags, the champaign strew. 
Zerbino and Isabel, in grief profound, 
Stood looking on, nor what to think they knew : 
They of all matters else might think, besides 
The fury which the wretched count misguides. 

Had but the lovers seen a drop of blood, 
They might have well believed Orlando dead : 
This while the pair, beside the neighboring flood, 
Beheld a shepherd coming, pale with dread. 
He just before, as on a rock he stood, 
Had seen the wretch's fury ; how he shed 
His arms about the forest, tore his clothes, 
Slew hinds, and caused a thousand other woes. 



312 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Questioned by good Zerbino, him the swain 
Of all which there had chanced, informed aright. 
Zerbino marvelled, and believed with pain, 
Although the proofs were clear : This as it might, 
He from his horse dismounted on the plain, 
Full of compassion, in afflicted plight ; 
And went about, collecting from the ground 
The various relics which were scattered round. 

Isabel lights as well ; and, where they lie 
Dispersed, the various arms uniting goes. 



Here Prince Zerbino all the arms unites. 
And hangs like a fair trophy, on a pine. 
And, to preserve them safe from errant knights, 
Natives or foreigners, in one short line 
Upon the sapling's verdant surface writes, 
Orlando's Arms, King Charles's Paladine. 
As he would say, " Let none this harness move, 
Who cannot with its lord his prowess prove ! " 

Zerbino having done the pious deed. 

Is bowning him to climb his horse ; when, lo ! 
The Tartar king arrives upon the mead. 
He at the trophied pine-tree's gorgeous show, 
Beseeches him the cause of this to read ; 
Who lets him (as rehearsed) the story know. 
When, without further pause, the paynim lord 
Hastes gladly to the pine, and takes the sword. 

" None can (he said) the action reprehend, 
Nor first I make the faulchion mine to-day ; 
And to its just possession I pretend 
Where'er I find it, be if where it may. 
Orlando, this not daring to defend. 
Has feigned him mad, and cast the sword away ; 
But if the champion so excuse his shame, 
This is no cause 1 should forego my claim." 

" Take it not thence," to him Zerbino cried, 
" Nor think to make it thine without a fight : 
If so thou tookest Hector's arms of pride. 
By theft thou hadst them, rather than by right." 
Without more parley spurred upon each side, 
Well matched in soul and valor, either knight. 
Already echoed are a thousand blows ; 
Nor yet well entered are the encountering foes. 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 

In 'scaping Durindane, a flame in show 
(He shifts so swiftly), is ttie Scottish lord. 
He leaps about his courser like a doe, 
Where'er the road best footing does afford. 
And well it is that he should not forego 
An inch of vantage ; who, if once that sword 
Smite him, will join the enamored ghosts, which rove 
Amid the mazes of the myrtle grove. 

As the swift-footed dog, who does espy 

Swine severed from his fellows, hunts him hard, 
And circles round about ; but he lies by 
Till once the restless foe neglect his guard ; 
So, while the sword descends, or hangs on high, 
Zerbino stands, attentive how to ward, 
How to save life and honor from surprise ; 
And keeps a wary eye, and smites and flies. 

On the other side, where'er the foe is seen 
To threaten stroke in vain, or make it good, 
He seems an Alpine wind, two hills between, 
That in the month of March shakes leafy wood ; 
Which to the ground now bends the forest green, 
Now whirls the broken boughs, at random strewed. 
Although the prince wards many, in the end 
One mighty stroke he cannot 'scape or fend. 

In the end he cannot 'scape one downright blow, 
Which enters, between sword and shield, his breast. 
As perfect was the plate and corselet, so 
Thick was the steel wherein his paunch was drest : 
But the destructive weapon, falling low. 
Equally opened either iron vest ; 
And cleft whate'er it swept in its descent, 
And to the saddle-bow, through cuirass, went. 

And, but that somewhat short the blow descends 
It would Zerbino like a cane divide ; 
But him so little in the quick offends, 
This scarce beyond the skin is scarified. 
More than a span in length the wound extends ; 
Of little depth : of blood a tepid tide 
To his feet descending, with a crimson line, 
Stains the bright arms which on the warrior shine. 

'T is so, I sometimes have been wont to view 
A hand more white than alabaster, part 
The silver cloth with ribbon red of hue; 
A hand I often feel divide my heart. 



Z^Z 



3^4 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

Here little vantage young Zerbino drew 
From strength and greater daring, and from art ; 
For in the temper of his arms and might, 
Too much the Tartar king excelled the knight. 

The fearful stroke was mightier in show, 

Than in effect, by which the prince was prest ; 
So that poor Isabel, distraught with woe, 
Felt her heart severed in her frozen breast. 
The Scottish prince, all over in a glow, 
With anger and resentment was possest. 
And putting all his strength in either hand. 
Smote full the Tartar's helmet with his brand. 

Almost on his steed's neck the Tartar fell, 
Bent by the weighty blow Zerbino sped ; 
And, had the helmet been unfenced by spell 
The biting faulchion would have cleft his head. 
The king, without delay, avenged him well, 
" Nor I for you till other season," said, 
" Will keep this gift ;" and levelled at his crest, 
Hoping to part Zerbino to the chest. 

Zerbino, on the watch, whose eager eye 

Waits on his wit, wheels quickly to the right; 

But not withal so quickly, as to fly 

The trenchant sword, which smote the shield outright, 

And cleft from top to bottom equally ; 

Shearing the sleeve beneath it, and the knight 

Smote on his arm ; and next the harness rended. 

And even to the champion's thigh descended. 

Zerbino, here and there, seeks every way 
By which to wound, nor yet his end obtains ; 
For, while he smites upon that armor gay. 
Not even a feeble dint the coat retains. 
On the other hand, the Tartar in the fray 
Such vantage o'er the Scottish prince obtains. 
Him he has wounded in seven parts or eight, 
And reft his shield and half his helmet's plate. 

He ever wastes his blood ; his energies 

Fail, though he feels it not, as 't would appear ; 
Unharmed, the vigorous heart new force supplies 
To the weak body of the cavalier. 
His lady, during this, whose crimson dyes 
Were chased by dread, to Doralice drew near, 
And for the love of Heaven, the damsel wooed 
To stop that evil and disastrous feud. 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO, 315 

Doralice, who as courteous was as fair, 
And ill-assured withal, how it would end, 
Willingly granted Isabella's prayer, 
And straight to truce and peace disposed her friend. 
As well Zerbino, by the other's care. 
Was brought his vengeful anger to suspend ; 
And, wending where she willed, the Scottish lord, 
Left unachieved the adventure of the sword. 



For to leave Durindana such misdeed 
To him appeared, it past all other woes ; 
Though he could hardly sit upon his steed. 
Through mighty loss of life-blood, which yet flows. 
Now, when his anger and his heat secede, 
After short interval, his anguish grows ; 
His anguish grows, with such impetuous pains, 
He feels that life is ebbing from his veins. 

For weakness can the prince no further hie, 
And so beside a fount is forced to stay : 
Him to assist the pitying maid would try, 
But knows not what to do, nor what to say. 
For lack of comfort she beholds him die ; 
Since every city is too far away, 
Where in this need she could resort to leech, 
Whose succor she might purchase or beseech. 

She, blaming fortune, and the cruel sky, 
Can only utter fond complaints and vain. 
" Why sank I not in ocean," (was her cry), 
" When first 1 reared my sail upon the main?" 
Zerbino, who on her his languid eye 
Had fixt, as she bemoaned her, felt more pain 
Than that enduring and strong anguish bred. 
Through which the suffering youth was well-nigh dead, 

" So be thou pleased, my heart," (Zerbino cried), 
" To love me yet, when I am dead and gone, 
As to abandon thee without a guide. 
And not to die, distresses me alone. 
For did it me in place secure betide 
To end my davs, this earthly journey done, 
I cheerful, and content, and fully blest 
Would die, since I should die upon thy breast 



' But since to abandon thee, to whom a prize 
I know not, my sad fate compels, I swear. 
My Isabella, by that month, those eyes, 
By what enchained me first, that lovely hair ; 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

My spirit, troubled and despairing, hies 
Into hell's deep and gloomy bottom ; where 
To think, thou wert abandoned so by me, 
Of all its woes the heaviest pain will be." 

At this the sorrowing Isabel, declining 

Her mournful face, which with her tears o'erfiows, 
Towards the sufferer, and her mouth conjoining 
To her Zerbino's, languid as a rose ; 
Rose gathered out of season, and which, pining 
Fades where it on the shadowy hedgerow grows, 
Exclaims, " Without me think not so, my heart, 
On this your last, long journey to depart. 

" Of this, my heart, conceive not any fear. 
For I will follow thee to heaven or hell ; 
It fits our souls together quit this sphere. 
Together go, for aye together dwell. 
No sooner closed thine eyelids shall appear. 
Than either me internal grief will quell, 
Or, has it not such power, 1 here protest, 
I with this sword to-day will pierce my breast. 

" I of our bodies cherish hope not light, 
That they shall have a happier fate when dead : 
Together to entomb them, may some wight. 
Haply by pity moved, be hither led." 
She the poor remnants of his vital sprite 
Went on collecting, as these words she said; 
And while yet auglit remains, with mournful lips, 
The last faint breath of life devoutly sips. 

'T was here his feeble voice Zerbino manned, 
Crying, " My deity, I beg and pray, 
By that love witnessed, when thy father's land 
Thou quittedst for my sake ; and, if I may 
In anything command thee, I command, 
That, with God's pleasure, thou live-out thy day; 
Nor ever banish from thy memory. 
That, well as man can love, have I loved thee. 

" God haply will provide thee with good aid. 
To free thee from each churlish deed I fear; 
As when in the dark cavern thou wast stayed, 
He sent, to rescue thee. Anjjlante's peer ; 
So he (grammercy !) succored thee dismayed 
At sea, and from the wicked Biscayneer. 
And, if thou must choosp death, in place of worse, 
Then only choose it as a lesser curse." 



THE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. 

I think not these last words of Scotland's knight 
Were so exprest, that he was understood : 
With these, he finished, like a feeble light, 
Which needs supply of wax, or other food. 
— Who is there, that has power to tell aright 
The gentle Isabella's doleful mood? 
When stiff, her loved Zerbino, with pale face, 
And cold as ice, remained in her embrace. 

On the ensanguined corse, in sorrow drowned. 
The damsel throws herself, in her despair, 
And shrieks so loud that wood and plain resound 
For many miles about ; nor does she spare 
Bosom or cheek ; but still, with cruel wound, 
One and the other smites the affiicted fair ; 
And wrongs her curling locks of golden grain, 
Aye calling on the well-loved youth in vain. 

She with such rage, such fury, was possest. 
That, in her transport, she Zerbino's glaive 
Would easily have turned against her breast, 
111 keeping the command her lover gave; 
But that a hermit, from his neighl^oring rest, 
Accustomed oft to seek the fountain-wave, 
His flagon at the cooling stream to fill. 
Opposed him to the damsel's evil will. 

The reverend father, who with natural sense 
Abundant goodness happily combined, 
And, with ensamples fraught and eloquence, 
Was full of charity towards mankind. 
With efficacious reasons her did fence, 
And to endurance Isabel inclined ; 
Placing, from ancient Testament and new. 
Women, as in a mirror, for her view. 

The holy man next made the damsel see, 
That save in God there was no true content, 
And proved all other hope was transitory, 
Fleeting, of little worth, and quickly spent; 
And urged withal so earnestly his plea, 
He changed her ill and obstinate intent ; 
And made her, for the rest of life, desire 
To live devoted to her heavenly sire. 

Not that she would her nn.s:htv love forbear 
For her dead lord, nor yet his relics slight; 
These, did she halt or journey, everywhere 
Would Isabel have with her, day and night. 



317 



3i8 NATIONAL EPICS. 

The hermit therefore seconding her care, 
Who, for his age, was sound and full of might, 
They on his mournful horse Zerbino placed, 
And traversed many a day that woodland waste. 



He thought to bear her to Provence, where, near 
The city of Marseilles, a borough stood, 
Which had a sumptuous monastery ; here 
Of ladies was a holy sisterhood. 



Rose's Translation. Canto XXIV, 



THE LUSIAD. 

The discovery of Mozambique, of Melinda, and of Calcutta has been sung 
by Camoens, whose poem has something of the charm of the Odyssey and of 
the magnificence of the ^Eneid. 

Montesquieu. 

THE Portuguese epic, the Lusiad, so-called from Lusi- 
tania, the Latin name for Portugal, was written by 
Luis de Camoens. 

He was born in Lisbon in 1524, lost his father by ship- 
wreck in infancy, and was educated by his mother at the 
University of Coimbra. On leaving the university he ap- 
peared at court, where his graces of person and mind soon 
rendered him a favorite. Here a love affair with the Donna 
Catarina de Atayde, whom the king also loved, caused his 
banishment to Santarem. At this place he began the Lusiad, 
and continued it on the expedition against the Moors in 
Africa sent out by John IH., an expedition on which he dis- 
played much valor and lost an eye. He was recalled to 
court, but jealousies soon drove him thence to India, whither 
he sailed in 1553, exclaiming, "Ungrateful country, thou 
shalt not possess my bones." In India his bravery and 
accomplishments won him friends, but his imprudences soon 
caused his exile to China, where he accumulated a small 
fortune and finished his poem. Happier circumstances per- 
mitted him to return to Goa ; but on the way the ship laden 
with his fortune sank, and he escaped, saving only his poem. 
After sixteen years of misfortune abroad, Camoens returned 
to Lisbon in 1569. The pestilence that was then raging de- 
layed the pubhcation of the Lusiad until 1572. The poem 
received little attention ; a small pension was bestowed on 
the poet, but was soon withdrawn, and the unfortunate 
Camoens was left to die in an almshouse. On his death-bed 
he deplored the impending fate of his country, which he 



320 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



alone could see. " I have loved my country. I have re- 
turned not only to die on her bosom, but to die with her." 

The Lusiad tells the story of the voyage of Vasco da 
Gama. The sailors of Prince Henry of Portugal, commander 
of the Portuguese forces in Africa, had passed Cape Nam 
and discovered the Cape of Storms, which the prince re- 
named the Cape of Good Hope. His successor Emmanuel, 
determined to carry out the work of his predecessor by 
sending out da Gama to undertake the discovery of the 
southern passage to India. The Portuguese were generally 
hostile to the undertaking, but da Gama, his brother, and his 
friend Coello gathered a company, part of which consisted 
of malefactors whose sentence of death was reversed on con- 
dition that they undertake the voyage, and reached India. 

The Lusiad is divided into ten cantos, containing one 
thousand one hundred and two stanzas. Its metre is the 
heroic iambic, in rhymed octave stanzas. 

The Lusiad is marred by its mythological allusions in imi- 
tation of Homer and Virgil, but these are forgotten when the 
poet sings in impassioned strains of his country's past glory. 

The Lusiad is simple in style ; its subject is prosaic ; it is 
a constant wonder that out of such unpromising materials 
Camoens could construct a poem of such interest. He 
could not have done so had he not been so great a poet, 
so impassioned a patriot. 

Camoens was in one sense of the word a practical man, 
like Ariosto ; he had governed a province, and governed 
it successfully. But he had also taken up arms for his coun- 
try, and after suffering all the slights that couW be put upon 
him by an ungrateful and forgetful monarch, still loved his 
native land, loved it the more, perhaps, that he had suffered 
for it and was by it neglected. He foresaw, also, as did no 
one else, the future ruin of his country, and loved it the more 
intensely, as a parent lavishes the fondest, most despairing 
affection on a child he knows doomed to early death. 

The Lusiad is sometimes called the epic of commerce ; 
it could be called far more appropriately the epic of 
patriotism. 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 



321 



Bibliography and Criticism, the Lusiad. J. Adam- 
son's Memoirs of Life and Writing of Camoens, 2 vols., 
1820 (vol. 2, account of works of Camoens in Portuguese 
and other languages, and of the works founded on his life 
or suggested by his writings) ; R. F. Burton's Camoens, his 
Life and his Lusiad, 2 vols., 1881 ; M. W. Shelley's Lives 
of the most Eminent Literary and Scientific Men of Italy, 
Spain, and Portugal, vol. 3 ; F. Bouterwek's History of 
Spanish and Portuguese Literature, 1823 (Tr. by T. Ross) ; 
Chambers's Repository, no. 32, Spirit of Camoens's Lusiad ; 
W. T. Dobson's Classic Poets, pp. 240-278 j Montgomery's 
Men of Italy, iii., 295 ; Sismondi's Literature of the South 
of Europe, ii., 475-528; Southeys Sketch of Portuguese 
Literature in vol. i. of Quarterly Review, 1809 ; Fortnightly 
Review, i., 184; Quarterly, i., 235; Monthly Review, clx., 
505 ; Edinburgh Review, 1805, vi., 43 ; New England Maga- 
zine, hii., 542 ; Revue de Deux Mondes, 1832, vi., 145. 

Standard English Translations, the Lusiad. The 
Lusiad, Tr. by J. J. Aubertin, 2 vols., i88r (Portuguese text 
and Enghsh Tr., in verse) ; The Lusiad, Englished by R. F. 
Burton, 2 vols., 1881 ; The Lusiad, Tr. into Spenserian verse 
by R. F. Duff, 1880 ; The Lusiad, Tr. by Sir Richard Fan- 
shawe, 1655 ; The Lusiad, Tr. by W. J. Mickle, 3 vols., Ed. 
5, 1807 ; The Lusiad, Tr. by T. M. Musgrave (blank verse), 
1826 ; The Lusiad, Tr. by Edward Quillinan, with notes by 
John Adamson, 1853. 



322 ^A TIONA L EPICS. 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 

When Jupiter, looking down from Olympus, saw the Lusi- 
tanian fleet sailing over the heretofore untravelled seas, he 
called the gods together, and reviewing the past glory of the 
Portuguese, their victories over the Castilians, their stand 
against the Romans, under their shepherd-hero Viriatus, and 
their conquest of Africa, he foretold their future glories and 
their discovery and conquest of India. 

Bacchus, who had long since made conquests in India, 
fearful lest his ancient honors should be forgotten, bitterly 
opposed the scheme of the Portuguese ; Venus, however, 
was favorable to them, and Mars interceded, counselling Jove 
not to heed Bacchus, but to permit the Lusitanians to reach 
India's shore in safety. 

When the council of the gods was dismissed, Mercury was 
sent to guide the Armada, which made its first landing at 
Mozambique. Canoes with curious palm-leaf sails, laden 
with dark-skinned natives, swarmed round the ships and 
were hailed with joy by Gama and his men, who invited 
them on board. A feast was spread for them, and to them 
Gama declared his intention of seeking India. Among 
them was a Moor who had at first thought the Portuguese 
Moors, on account of their dark skins. Feigning cordiality 
while plotting their ruin, he offered them a pilot to Quiloa, 
where, he assured them, they would find a Christian colony. 
He and his friends also laid a plot to place some soldiers in 
ambush to attack Gama's men when they landed next day to 
get water ; in this way many would be destroyed, and cer- 
tain death awaited the survivors at Quiloa, whither the prom- 
ised pilot would conduct them. But the Moors had not 
counted on the strength of the Portuguese. Gama's ven- 
geance was swift and certain. The thunder of his guns terri- 
fied the Moors, and the regent implored his pardon, and with 
make-believe tears insisted on his receiving at his hands the 
promised pilot. 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 323 

Many questions were asked by Gama concerning the spicy 
shores of India, of the African coasts, and of the island to 
the north. " Quiloa, that," rephed the Moor, " where from 
ancient times, the natives have worshipped the blood stained 
image of the Christ." He knew how the Moorish inhabi- 
tants hated the Christians, and was secretly delighted when 
Gama directed him to steer thither. 

A storm swept the fleet past Quiloa, but the pilot, still de- 
termined on revenge, pointed out the island town of Mom- 
baga, as a stronghold of the Christians, and steering the fleet 
thither, anchored just outside the bar. Bacchus, now intent 
on the destruction of the Lusitanians, assumed the charac- 
ter of a priest to deceive the heralds sent ashore by Gama, 
who assured their commander that they saw a Christian 
priest performing divine rites at an altar above which fluttered 
the banner of the Holy Ghost. In a few moments the Chris- 
tian fleet would have been at the mercy of the Moors, but 
Cytherea, beholding from above the peril of her favorites, 
hastily descended, gathered together her nymphs, and formed 
an obstruction, past which the vessels strove in vain to pass. 
As Gama, standing high on the poop, saw the huge rock in 
the channel, he cried out, and the Moorish pilots, thinking 
their treason discovered, leaped into the waves. 

Warned in a dream by Mercury that the Moors were 
preparing to cut his cables, De Gama roused his fleet and 
set sail for Melinda, whose monarch. Mercury had told him, 
was both powerful and good. 

The fleet, decorated with purple streamers and gold and 
scarlet tapestry in honor of Ascension Day sailed with 
drums beating and trumpets sounding, into the harbor of 
Melinda, where they were welcomed by the kind and truth- 
ful people. The fame of the Lusitanians had reached Me- 
linda, and the monarch gladly welcomed them to his land. 
His herald entreated them to remain with him. and brought 
them sheep, fowls, and the fruits of the earth, welcome gifts 
to the mariners. Gama, had vowed not to leave the ship 
until he could step on Indian ground, so the next day the 
king and the commander, clad in their most splendid vest- 



124 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



ments, met in barges, and the monarch of Melinda asked 
Gama to tell him of the Lusian race, its origin and climate, 
and of all his adventures up to the time of his arrival at 
Melinda. 

" O king," said Gama, " between the zones of endless 
winter and eternal summer lies beautiful Europe, sur- 
rounded by the sea. To the north are the bold Swede, the 
Prussian, and the Dane ; on her south-eastern line dwelt 
the Grecian heroes, world-renowned, and farther south are 
the ruins of proud Rome. Among the beauteous landscapes 
of Italy lies proud Venice, queen of the sea, and north of 
her tower the lofty Alps. The olive groves and vineyards 
of fair Gallia next greet the eye, and then the valorous 
fields of Spain, Aragon, Granada, and — the pride of Spain 
— Castile. On the west, a crown to it, lies Lusitania, on 
whom last smiles the setting sun, — against whose shores 
roll the waves of the western sea. 

"Noble are the heroes of my country. They were the 
first to rise against the Moors and expel them from the 
kingdom. The forces of Rome were routed by our shep- 
herd-hero, Viriatus. After his death our country languished 
until Alonzo of Spain arose, whose renown spread far and 
wide because of his battles against the Moors. 

" Alonzo rewarded generously the heroes who fought under 
him, and to Prince Henry of Hungaria he gave the fields 
through which the Tagus flows and the hand of his daughter. 
To them was born a son, Alfonso, the founder of the Lusian 
throne. After the death of his father Henry, Alfonso's 
mother became regent, and ere long wedded her minister 
Perez and plotted to deprive her young son of his inheri- 
tance. The eighteen year old son arose, won the nobility 
to his side, and defeated his guilty mother and her husband 
in the battle of Guimaraens. Forgetful of the reverence 
due to parents, he cruelly imprisoned his mother, whose 
father, the king of Spain, indignant at such treatment of his 
daughter, now marched against the young prince and de- 
feated him. As he lay in prison, his faithful guardian Egas 
knelt before the king, and vowed that his master, if released, 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 325 

would pay homage to him. Well he knew that his master 
would never bow his proud head to pay homage to Castile. 
So when the day arrived, Egas, and all his family, clad in 
gowns of white hke sentenced felons, with unshod feet, and 
with the halter around their necks, sought Castile. ' O 
king, take us as a sacrifice for my perjured honor. Turn 
in friendship to the prince thy grandson, and wreak thy 
vengeance on us alone.' 

''Fortunately Alonzo was noble enough to release the 
self-sacrificing Egas, and to forgive his grandson. 

" The young Alfonso, pardoned by his grandfather, pro- 
ceeded to Ourique, whither marched five Moorish kings. 
Over his head appeared the sacred cross ; but he prayed 
heaven to show it to his army instead, that they might be 
inspired with the hope of victory. Filled with joy at the 
token, the Portuguese defeated the Moors, and on the 
bloody battle-field x\lfonso was proclaimed King of Portugal, 
and from that day placed on his hitherto unadorned buckler 
five azure shields, arranged as a cross. He continued the 
wars with the Moors until, wounded and taken prisoner at 
Badajoz, he resigned the throne to his son, Don Sancho, 
who in turn won many victories. Alfonso II., Sancho 
II., Alfonso III., and Alfonso the Brave succeeded him. 
At the court of the latter was a beautiful maiden, Inez de 
Castro, whom Alfonso's son Don Pedro had married 
secretly. The courtiers, fearful lest Pedro should show 
favor to the Castilians because Inez was the daughter of a 
Castilian, told the king of his son's amour. In the absence 
of Pedro, Inez was led before the king, bringing with her 
her children, to help her to plead for mercy. But the king 
was merciless, his counsellors, brutal, and at his signal they 
stabbed her. Pedro never recovered from the shock given 
him by the fate of his beautiful wife, and after his succession 
to the throne, as a partial atonement for her suffering, he 
had her body taken from the grave and crowned Queen of 
Portn2:al. 

" The weak Fernando, who took his wife Eleanora from 
her lawful husband, succeeded Pedro, and their daughter 



326 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Beatrice not being recognized by the Portuguese, at his 
death Don John, a natural brother, came to the throne 
In the mean time a Spanish prince had married Beatrice 
and invaded Portugal, claiming it as his right. The Portu- 
guese were divided until Nufio Alvarez Pereyra came forward. 
' Has one weak reign so corrupted you ? ' he cried. 
' Have you so soon forgotten our brave sires? Fernando 
was weak, but John, our godhke king, is strong. Come, 
follow him ! Or, if you stay, I myself will go alone ; never 
will I yield to a vassal's yoke ; my native land shall remain 
unconquered, and my monarch's foes, Castilian or Portu- 
guese, shall heap the plain ! ' 

" Inspired by Nuno's eloquence the Lusians took the field 
and defeated the Spanish in the battle of Aljubarota. Still 
dissatisfied, Nuno pressed into Spain and dictated the terms 
of peace at Seville. Having established himself upon the 
throne of Portugal, John carried the war into Africa, which 
wars were continued after his death by his son Edward. 
While laying siege to Tangier, Edward and his brother Fer- 
nando were taken prisoners, and were allowed to return home 
only on promise to surrender Ceuta. Don Fernando re- 
mained as the hostage they demanded. The Portuguese 
would not agree to surrender Ceuta, and Don Fernando was 
forced to languish in captivity, since the Moors would ac- 
cept no other ransom. He was a patriotic prince than 
whom were none greater in the annals of Lusitania. 

" Alfonso v., victorious over the Moors, dreamed of con- 
quering Castile, but w^as defeated, and on his death was suc- 
ceeded by John II., who designed to gain immortal fame in a 
way tried by no other king. His sailors sought a path to 
India, but ' though enriched with knowledge ' they perished 
at the mouth of the Indus. To his successor, Emmanuel, in 
a dream appeared the rivers Ganges and Indus, hoary 
fathers, rustic in aspect, yet with a majestic grace of bear- 
ing, their long, uncombed beards dripping with water, their 
heads wreathed with strange flowers, and proclaimed to hmi 
that their countries were ordained by fate to yield to him ; 
that the fight would be great, and the fields would stream 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 327 

with blood, but that at last their shoulders would bend 
beneath the yoke. Overjoyed at this dream, Emmanuel 
proclaimed it to his people. I, O king, felt my bosom 
burn, for long had I aspired to this work. Me the king 
singled out, to me the dread toil he gave of seeking unknown 
seas. Such zeal felt I and my youths as inspired the Mynian 
youths when they ventured into unknown seas in the Argo, 
in search of the golden fleece. 

" On the shore was reared a sacred fane, and there at the 
holy shrine my comrades and I knelt and joined in the 
solemn rites. Prostrate we lay before the shrine until morn- 
ing dawned; then, accompanied by the ^woful, weeping, 
melancholy throng' that came pressing from the gates of 
the city, we sought our ships. 

'* Then began the tears to flow ; then the shrieks of mothers, 
sisters, and wives rent the air, and as we waved farewell an 
ancient man cried out to us on the thirst for honor and for 
fame that led us to undertake such a voyage. 

" Soon our native mountains mingled with the skies, and the 
last dim speck of land having faded, we set our eyes to scan 
the waste of sea before us. From Madeira's fair groves we 
passed barren Masilia, the Cape of Green, the Happy Isles, 
Jago, Jalofo, and vast Mandinga, the hated shore of the 
Gorgades, the jutting cape called by us the Cape of Palms, 
and southward sailed through the wild waves until the stars 
changed and we saw Callisto's star no longer, but fixed our 
eyes on another pole star that rises nightly over the waves. 
The shining cross we beheld each night in the heavens was 
to us a good omen. 

"While thus struggling through the untried waves, and 
battling with the tempests, now viewing with terror the 
waterspouts, and the frightful lightnings, now comforted by 
the sight of mysterious fire upon our masts, we came in sight 
of land, and gave to the tr'^mbling negro who came to us 
some brass and bells. Five days after this event, as we 
sailed through the unknown seas, a sudden darkness o'er- 
spread the sky, unlighted by moon or star. Questioning 
what this portent might mean, I saw a mighty phantom rise 



328 NATIONAL EPICS. 

through the air. "His aspect was sullen, his cheeks were 
pale, his withered hair stood erect, his yellow teeth gnashed j 
his whole aspect spoke of revenge and horror. 

"'Bold are you,' cried he, *to venture hither, but you 
shall suffer for it. The next proud fleet that comes this way 
shall perish on my coast, and he who first beheld me shall 
float on the tide a corpse. ' Often, O Lusus, shall your chil- 
dren mourn because of me ! ' ' Who art thou ? ' I cried. 
* The Spirit of the Cape,' he replied, ' oft called the Cape of 
Tempests.' " 

The king of Melinda interrupted Gama. He had often 
heard traditions among his people of the Spirit of the Cape. 
He was one of the race of Titans who loved Thetis, and was 
punished by Jove by being transformed into this promontory. 

Gama continued : " Again we set forth, and stopped at a 
pleasant coast to clean our barks of the shell-fish. At this 
place we left behind many victims of the scurvy in their 
lonely graves. Of the treason we met with at Mozambique 
and the miracle that saved us at Quiloa and Mombas, you 
know already, as well as of your own bounty." 

Charmed with the recital of Gama, the King of Melinda 
had forgotten how the hours passed away. After the story 
was told the company whiled away the hours with dance, 
song, the chase, and the banquet, until Gama declared that 
he must go on to India, and was furnished with a pilot by 
the friendly king. 

Bacchus, enraged at seeing the voyage so nearly com- 
pleted, descended to the palace of Neptune, with crystal 
towers, lofty turrets, roofs of gold, and beautiful pillars 
inwrought with pearls. The sculptured walls were adorned 
with old Chaos's troubled face, the four fair elements, and 
many scenes in the history of the earth. Roused by Bac- 
chus, the gods of the sea consented to let loose the winds 
and the waves against the Portuguese. 

During the night, the Lusians spent the time in relating 
stories of their country. As they talked, the storm came 
upon them, and the vessels rose upon the giant waves, so 
that the sailors saw the bottom of the sea swept almost bare 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 329 

by the violence of the storm. But the watchful Venus per- 
ceived the peril of her Lusians, and calling her nymphs 
together, beguiled the storm gods until the storm ceased. 
While the sailors congratulated themselves on the returning 
calm, the cry of " Land ! " was heard, and the pilot announced 
to Gama that Calicut was near. 

Hail to the Lusian heroes who have won such honors, 
who have forced their way through untravelled seas to the 
shores of India ! Other nations of Europe have wasted their 
time in a vain search for luxury and fame instead of reclaim- 
ing to the faith its enemies ! Italy, how fallen, how lost art 
thou ! and England and Gaul, miscalled " most Christian ! " 
While ye have slept, the Lusians, though their realms are 
small, have crushed the Moslems and made their name 
resound throughout Africa, even to the shores of Asia. 

At dawn Gama sent a herald to the monarch ; in the 
mean time, a friendly Moor, Mongaide, boarded the vessel, 
delighted to hear his own tongue once more. Born at 
Tangiers, he considered himself a neighbor of the Lusians; 
well he knew their valorous deeds, and although a Moor, he 
now aUied himself to them as a friend. He described India 
to the eager Gama : its religions, its idolaters, the Moham- 
medans, the Buddhists, the Brahmins. At Calicut, queen of 
India, lived the Zamorin, lord of India, to whom all subject 
kings paid their tribute. 

His arrival having been announced, Gama, adorned in his 
most splendid garments, and accompanied by his train, also 
in bright array, entered the gilded barges and rowed to the 
shore, where stood the Catual, the Zamorin's minister. Mon- 
gaide acted as an interpreter. The company passed through 
a temple on their way to the palace, in which the Christians 
were horrified at the graven images there worshipped. On 
the palace walls were the most splendid pictures, relating the 
history of India. One wall, however, bore no sculptures ; 
the Brahmins had foretold that a foreign foe would at some 
time conquer India, and that space was reserved for scenes 
from those wars. 

Into the splendid hall adorned with tapestries of cloth of 



330 NATIONAL EPICS. 

gold and carpets of velvet, Gama passed, and stood before 
the couch on which sat the mighty monarch. The room 
blazed with gems and gold; the monarch's mantle was of 
cloth of gold, and his turban shone with gems. His manner 
was majestic and dignified ; he received Gama in silence, 
only nodding to him to tell his story. 

Gama proclaimed that he came in friendship from a valor- 
ous nation that wished to unite its shores with his by com- 
merce. The monarch responded that he and his council 
would weigh the proposal, and in the mean time Gama should 
remain and feast with them. 

The next day the Indians visited the fleet, and after the 
banquet Gama displayed to his guests a series of banners on 
which were told the history of Portugal and her heroes. 
First came Lusus, the friend of Bacchus, the hero-shepherd 
Viriatus, the first Alonzo, the self-sacrificing Egas, the valiant 
Fuaz, every hero who had strengthened Lusitania and driven 
out her foes, down to the gallant Pedro and the glorious 
Henry. 

Awed and wondering at the deeds of the mighty heroes, 
the Indians returned home. In the night Bacchus appeared 
to the king, warning him against the Lusians and urging him 
to destroy them while in his power. The Moors bought 
the Catual with their gold. They also told the king that 
they would leave his city as soon as he allied himself with the 
odious strangers. When Gama was next summoned before 
the king he was received with a frown. 

" You are a pirate ! Your first words were lies. Confess 
it ; then you may stay with me and be my captain." 

" I know the Moors," replied Gama. " I know their lies 
that have poisoned your ears. Am I mad that I should vol- 
untarily leave my pleasant home and dare the terrors of an 
unknown sea? Ah, monarch, you know not the Lusian 
race ! Bold, dauntless, the king commands, and we obey. 
Past the dread Cape of Storms have I ventured, bearing no 
gift save friendly peace, and that noblest gift of all, the 
friendship of my king. I have spoken the truth. Truth is 
everlasting ! " 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 



331 



A day passed and still Gama was detained by the power 
of the Catual, who ordered him to call his fleets ashore if 
his voyage was really one of friendship. 

" Never ! " exclaimed Gama. '' My fleet is free, though I 
am chained, and they shall carry to Lisbon the news of my 
discovery." 

As he spoke, at a sign from the Catual, hostile ships were 
seen surrounding the Lusian vessels. " Not one shall tell on 
Lisbon's shores your fate." 

Gama smiled scornfully, as the fleet swept on towards his 
vessels. Loud sounded the drums, shrill the trumpets. The 
next moment sudden lightning flashed from Gama's ships 
and the skies echoed with the thunder of the guns. 

No word fell from Gama's lips as, the battle over, they 
saw the sea covered with the torn hulks and floating masts ; 
but the populace raged around the palace gates, demanding 
justice to the strangers. 

The troubled king sought to make peace with Gama. 

" My orders have been given. To-day, when the sun 
reaches its meridian, India shall bleed and Calicut shall 
fall. The time is almost here. I make 'no terms. You 
have deceived me once." 

The Moors fell fainting on the floor ; the monarch trem- 
bled. *'What can save us?" he cried. 

" Convey me and my train to the fleet. Command at 
once ; it is even now noon." 

Once more safe within his ship, with him the faithful 
Mongaide, who had kept him informed of the treason of 
the Moors, his ships laden with cinnamon, cloves, pepper, 
and gems, proofs of his visit, Gama, rejoicing, set sail for 
home. 

Venus saw the fleet setting out, and planned a resting- 
place for the weary sailors, a floating isle with golden sands, 
bowers of laurel and myrtle, beautiful flowers and luscious 
fruits. Here the sea nymphs gathered, Thetis, the most 
beautiful, being reserved for Gama, and here days were spent 
in joyance. 

At the banquet the nymphs sang the future glories of the 



332 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Lusians, and taking Gama by the hand, led him and his men 
to a mountain height, whence they could look upon a wondrous 
globe, the universe. The crystal spheres whirled swiftly, mak- 
ing sweet music, and as they listened to this, they saw the 
sun go by, the stars, Apollo, the Queen of Love, Diana, and 
the " yellow earth, the centre of the whole." Asia and Africa 
were unrolled to their sight, and the future of India, con- 
quered by the Lusians, Cochin China, China, Japan, Su- 
matra, — all these countries given to the world by their 
voyage around the terrible cape. 

" Spread thy sails ! " cried the nymphs ; " the time has come 
to go ! " 

The ships departed on their homeward way, and the heroes 
were received with the wildest welcome by the dwellers on 
Tago's bosom. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE LUSIAD. 

Inez de Castro. 

During the reign of Alfonso the Brave, his son Don Pedro 
secretly wedded a beautiful maiden of the court, Inez de Castro. 
The courtiers, jealous because Inez was a Castilian, betrayed 
Pedro's secret to the king, who, in the absence of his son, had 
Inez brought before him and slain by hired ruffians. 

While glory, thus, Alonzo's name adorn'd, 
To Lisbon's shores the happy chief returned, 
In glorious peace and well-deserv'd repose, 
His course of fame, and honor'd age to close. 
When now, O king, a damsel's fate severe, 
A fate which ever claims the woful tear, 
Disgraced his honors — On the nymph's 'lorn head 
Relentless rage its bitterest rancor shed : 
Yet, such the zeal her princely lover bore, 
Her breathless corse the crown of Lisbon wore. 
'T was thou, O Love, whose dreaded shafts control 
The hind's rude heart, and tear the hero's soul ; 
Thou, ruthless power, with bloodshed never cloy'd, 
'Twas thou thy lovely votary de'^troy'd. 
Thy thirst still burning for a deeper woe, 
In vain to thee the tears of beauty flow ; 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 

The breast that feels thy purest flames divine, 
With spouting gore must bathe thy cruel shrine. 
Such thy dire triumphs ! — Thou, O nymph, the while, 
Prophetic of the god's unpitying guile, 
In tender scenes by love-sick fancy wrought, 
By fear oft shifted, as by fancy brought, 
In sweet Mondego's ever-verdant bowers, » 

Languish'd away the slow and lonely hours : 
While now, as terror wak'd thy boding fears, 
The conscious stream receiv'd thy pearly tears; 
And now, as hope reviv'd the brighter flame, 
Each echo sigh'd thy princely lover's name. 
Nor less could absence from thy prince remove 
The dear remembrance of his distant love : 
Thy looks, thy smiles, before him ever glow, 
And o'er his melting heart endearing flow : 
By night his slumbers bring thee to his arms. 
By day his thoughts still wander o'er thy charms : 
By night, by day, each thought thy loves employ, 
Each thought the memory, or the hope, of joy. 
Though fairest princely dames invok'd his love. 
No princely dame his constant faith could move : 
For thee, alone, his constant passion burn'd, 
For thee the proffer' d royal maids he scorn'd. 
Ah, hope of bliss too high — the princely dames 
Refus'd, dread rage the father's breast inflames ; 
He, with an old man's wintry eye, surveys 
The youth's fond love, and coldly with it weighs 
The people's murmurs of his son's delay 
To bless the nation with his nuptial day. 
(Alas, the nuptial day was past unknown. 
Which, but when crown'd, the prince could dare to own.) 
And, with the fair one's blood, the vengeful sire 
' Resolves to quench his Pedro's faithful fire. 
Oh, thou dread sword, oft stain'd with heroes' gore. 
Thou awful terror ot the prostrate Moor, 
What rage could aim thee at a female breast, 
Unarm'd, by softness and by love possess'd ! 

Dragg'd from her bower, by murd'rous ruffian hands, 
Before the frowning king fair Inez stands ; 
Her tears of artless innocence, her air 
So mild, so lovely, and her face so fair, 
Mov'd the stern monarch ; when, with eager zeal, 
Her fierce destroyers urg'd the public weal ; 
Dread rage again the tyrant's soul possess'd. 
And liis dark brow his jruel thoughts confess'd ; 
O'er her fair face a sudden paleness spread. 
Her throbbing heart with gen'rous anguish bled, 
Anguish to view her lover's hopeless woes, 



Zll 



334 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

And all the mother in her bosom rose. 

Her beauteous eyes, in trembling tear-drops drown'd, 

To heaven she lifted (for her hands were bound) ; 

Then, on her infants turn'd the piteous glance, 

The look of bleeding woe ; the babes advance. 

Smiling in innocence of infant age, 

Unaw'd, unconscious of their grandsire's rage; 

To whom, as bursting sorrow gave the flow, 

The native heart-sprung eloquence of woe, 

The lovely captive thus : — " O monarch, hear, 

If e'er to thee the name of man was dear, 

If prowling tigers, or the wolf's wild brood 

(Inspired by nature with the lust of blood). 

Have yet been mov'd the weeping babe to spare, 

Nor left, but tended with a nurse's care, 

As Rome's great founders to the world were given ; 

Shalt thou, who wear'st the sacred stamp of Heaven 

The human form divine, shalt thou deny 

That aid, that pity, which e'en beasts supply ! 

Oh, that thy heart were, as thy looks declare, 

Of human mould, superfluous were my prayer; 

Thou couldst not, then, a helpless damsel slay, 

Whose sole offence in fond affection lay, 

In faith to him who first his love confess'd, 

Who first to love allur'd her virgin breast. 

In these my babes shalt thou thine image see, 

And, still tremendous, hurl thy rage on me ? 

Me, for their sakes, if yet thou wilt not spare, 

Oh, let these infants prove thy pious care ! 

Yet, Pity's lenient current ever flows 

From that brave breast where genuine valor glows ; 

That thou art brave, let vanquish'd Afric tell, 

Then let thy pity o'er my anguish swell ; 

Ah, let my woes, unconscious of a crime, • 

Procure mine exile to some barb'rous clime : 

Give me to wander o'er the burning plains 

Of Libya's deserts, or the wild domains 

Of Scythia's snow-clad rocks, and frozen shore; 

There let me, hopeless of return, deplore : 

Where ghastly horror fills the dreary vale. 

Where shrieks and bowlings die on every gale, 

The lion's roaring, and the tiger's yell. 

There with my infant race, consigned to dwell, 

There let me try that piety to find, 

In vain by me implor'd from human kind : 

There, in some dreary cavern's rocky womb. 

Amid the horrors of sepulchral gloom, 

For him whose love I mourn, my love shall glow, 

The sigh shall murmur, and the tear shall flow: 

All my fond wish, and all my hope, to rear 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 

These infant pledges of a love so dear, 
Amidst my griefs a soothing glad employ, 
Amidst my fears a woful, hopeless joy." 

In tears she utter'd — as the frozen snow 
Touch 'd by the spring's mild ray, begins to flow, 
So just began to melt his stubborn soul, 
As mild-ray'd Pity o'er the tyrant stole ; 
But destiny forbade : with eager zeal 
(Again pretended for the public weal), 
Her fierce accusers urg'd her speedy doom; 
Again, dark rage diffus'd its horrid gloom 
O'er stern Alonzo's brow : swift at the sign, 
Their swords, unsheath'd, around her brandish'd shine. 
O foul disgrace, of knighthood lasting stain, 
By men of arms a helpless lady slain ! 

Thus Pyrrhus, burning with unmanly ire, 
Fulfilled the mandate of his furious sire ; 
Disdainful of the frantic matron's prayer, 
On fair Polyxena, her last fond care. 
He rush'd, his blade yet warm with Priam's gore, 
And dash'd the daughter on the sacred floor; 
While mildly she her raving mother eyed. 
Resigned her bosom to the sword, and died. 
Thus Inez, while her eyes to heaven appeal, 
Resigns her bosom to the murd'ring steel : 
That snowy neck, whose matchless form sustain'd 
The loveliest face, where all the graces reign'd, 
"Whose charms so long the gallant prince enflam'd. 
That her pale corse was Lisbon's queen proclaim'd, 
That snowy neck was stain' d with spouting gore, 
Another sword her lovely bosom tore. 
The flowers that glisten' d with her tears bedew'd, 
Now shrunk and languish'd with her blood embru'd. 
As when a rose ere-while of bloom so gay. 
Thrown from the careless virgin's breast away, 
Lies faded on the plain, the living red, 
The snowy white, and all its fragrance fled; 
So from her cheeks the roses died away, 
And pale in death the beauteous Inez lay : 
With dreadful smiles, and crimson'd with her blood, 
Round the wan victim the stern murd'rers stood, 
Unmindful of the sure, though future hour, 
Sacred to vengeance and her lover's power. 

O Sun, couldst thou so foul a crime behold, 
Nor veil thine head in darkness, as of old 
A sudden night unwonted horror cast 
O'er that dire banquet, where the sire's repast 



335 



^^6 NATIONAL EPICS. 

The son's torn limbs supplied ! — Yet you, ye vales ! 

Ye distant forests, and ye fiow'ry dales ! 

When pale and sinking to the dreadful fall, 

You heard her quiv'ring lips on Pedro call; 

Your faithful echoes caught the parting sound, 

And Pedro ! Pedro ! mournful, sigh'd around. 

Nor less the wood-nymphs of Mondego's groves 

Bewail'd the memory of her hapless loves : 

Her griefs they wept, and, to a plaintive rill 

Transform'd their tears, which weeps and murmurs still. 

To give immortal pity to her woe 

They taught the riv'let through her bowers to flow, 

And still, through violet-beds, the fountain pours 

Its plaintive wailing, and is named Amours. 

Nor long her blood for vengeance cried in vain : 

Her gallant lord begins his awful reign, 

In vain her murderers for refuge fly, 

Spain's wildest hills no place of rest supply. 

The injur'd lover's and the monarch's ire. 

And stern-brow'd Justice in their doom conspire : 

In hissing flames they die, and yield their souls in fire. 

Mickle's Translation. Canto III, 



The Spirit of the Cape. 

Vasco de Gama relates the incidents of his voyage from 
Portugal to the King of Melinda. The southern cross had ap- 
peared in the heavens and the fleet was approaching the south- 
ern point of Africa. While at anchor in a bay the Portuguese 
aroused the hostility of the savages, and hastily set sail. 

" Now, prosp'rous gales the bending canvas swell'd; 
From these rude shores our fearless course we held : 
Beneath the glist'ning wave the god of day 
Had now five times withdrawn the parting ray, 
When o'er the prow a sudden darkness spread. 
And, slowly floating o'er the mast's tall head 
A black cloud hover'd: nor appear'd from far 
The moon's pale glimpse, nor faintly twinkling star; 
So deep a gloom the low'ring vapor cast, 
Transfix'd with awe the bravest stood aghast. 
Meanwhile, a hollow bursting roar resounds, 
As when hoarse surges lash their rocky mounds ; 
Nor had the black'ning wave nor frowning heav'n 
The wonted signs of gath'ring tempest giv'n. 
Amazed we stood. * O thou, our fortune's guide, 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 337 

Avert this omen, mighty God ! ' I cried ; 

' Or, through forbidden climes adventurous stray'd, 

Have we the secrets of the deep survey'd, 

Which these wide solitudes of seas and sky 

Were doom'd to hide from man's unhallow'd eye ? 

Whate'er this prodigy, it threatens more 

Than midnight tempests, and the mingled roar, 

W^hen sea and sky combine to rock the marble shore.' 

" I spoke, when rising through the darken'd air, 
Appall'd, we saw a hideous phantom glare; 
High and enormous o'er the flood he tower'd, 
And 'thwart our way with sullen aspect lower'd: 
An earthy paleness o'er his cheeks was spread, 
Erect uprose his hairs of wither'd red ; 
Writhing to speak, his sable lips disclose. 
Sharp and disjoin'd, his gnashing teeth's blue rows ; 
His haggard beard flow'd quiv'ring on the wind. 
Revenge and horror in his mien combin'd : 
His clouded front, by with 'ring lightnings scar'd, 
The inward anguish of his soul declar'd. 
His red eyes, glowing from their dusky caves, 
Shot livid fires : far echoing o'er tlie waves 
His voice resounded, as the cavern'd shore 
With hollow groan repeats the tempest's roar. 
Cold gliding horrors thrill'd each hero's breast, 
Our bristling hair and tott'ring knees confess'd 
Wild dread, the while with visage ghastly wan. 
His black lips trembling, thus the fiend began : — 

" ' O you, the boldest of the nations, fir'd 
By daring pride, by lust of fame inspir'd, 
Who, scornful of the bow'rs of sweet repose, 
Through these my waves advance your fearless prows, 
Regardless of the length'ning wat'ry way, 
And all the storms that own my sov'reign sway. 
Who, mid surrounding rocks and shelves explore 
Where never hero brav'd my rage before ; 
Ye sons of Lusus, who with eyes profane 
Have view'd the secrets of my awful reign. 
Have passed the bounds which jealous Nature drew 
To veil her secret shrine from mortal view ; 
Hear from my lips what direful woes attend. 
And, bursting soon, shall o'er your race descend. 

" ' With every bounding keel that dares my rage, 
Eternal war my rocks and storms shall wage, 
The next proud fleet that through my drear domain, 
With daring search shall hoist the streaming vane, 
That gallant navy, by my whirlwinds toss'd, 
22 



338 NATIONAL EPICS. 

And raging seas, shall perish on my coast : 
Then he, who first my secret reign descried, 
A naked corpse, wide floating o'er the tide, 
Shall drive — Unless my heart's full raptures fail, 
O Lusus ! oft shalt thou thy children wail ; 
Each year thy shipwreck'd sons thou shalt deplore, 
Each year thy sheeted masts shall strew my shore. 

" ' With trophies plum'd behold a hero come, 
Ye dreary wilds, prepare his yawning tomb. 
Though smiling fortune bless' d his youthful morn, 
Though glory's rays his laurell'd brows adorn, 
Full oft though he beheld with sparkling ej^e 
The Turkish moons in wild confusion fly, 
While he, proud victor, thunder'd in the rear. 
All, all his mighty fame shall vanish here. 
Quiloa's sons, and thine, Mombaz, shall see 
Their conqueror bend his laurell'd head to me ; 
While, proudly mingling with the tempest's sound. 
Their shouts of joy from every cliff rebound. 

" ' The howling blast, ye slumb'ring storms prepare, 
A youthful lover and his beauteous fair 
Triumphant sail from India's ravag'd land ; 
His evil angel leads him to my strand. 
Through the torn hulk the dashing waves shall roar, 
The shatter'd wrecks shall blacken all my shore. 
Themselves escaped, despoil'd by savage hands, 
Shall, naked, wander o'er the burning sands, 
Spar'd by the waves far deeper woes to bear, 
W^oes, e'en by me, acknowledg'd with a tear. 
Their infant race, the promis'd heirs of joy, 
Shall now, no more, a hundred hands employ ; 
By cruel want, beneath the parents' eye. 
In these wide wastes their infant race shall die ; 
Through dreary wilds, where never pilgrim trod 
Where caverns yawn, and rocky fragments nod, 
The hapless lover and his bride shall stray. 
By night unshelter'd, and forlorn by day. 
In vain the lover o'er the trackless plain 
Shall dart his eyes, and cheer his spouse in vain. 
Her tender limbs, and breast of mountain snow, 
Where, ne'er before, intruding blast might blow, 
Parch' d by the sun, and shrivell'd by the cold 
Of dewy night, shall he, fond man, behold. 
Thus, wand'ring wide, a thousand ills o'er past. 
In fond embraces they shall sink at last ; 
While pitying tears their dying eyes o'erflow, 
And the last sigh shall wail each other's woe. 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 

" * Some few, the sad companions of their fate, 
Shall yet survive, protected by my hate, 
On Tagus' banks the dismal tale to tell, 
Hov?, blasted by my frown, your heroes felL' 

" He paus'd, in act still further to disclose 
A long, a dreary prophecy of woes : 
When springing onward, loud my voice resounds, 
And midst his rage the threat'ning shade confounds. 

" ' What art thou, horrid form that rid'st the air ? 
By Heaven's eternal light, stern fiend, declare.' 
His lips he writhes, his eyes far round he throws, 
And, from his breast, deep hollow groans arose, 
Sternly askance he stood : with wounded pride 
And anguish torn, ' In me, behold,' he cried, 
While dark-red sparkles from his eyeballs roll'd, 
' In me the Spirit of the Cape behold. 
That rock, by you the Cape of Tempests nam'd, 
By Neptune's rage, in horrid earthquakes fram'd, 
When Jove's red bolts o'er Titan's offspring flam'd. 
With wide-stretch' d piles I guard the pathless strand, 
And Afric's southern mound, unmov'd, I stand : 
Nor Roman prow, nor daring Tyrian oar 
Ere dash'd the white wave foaming to my shore; 
Nor Greece nor Carthage ever spread the sail 
On these my seas, to catch the trading gale. 
You, you alone have dar'd to plough my main, 
And with the human voice disturb my lonesome reign." 

" He spoke, and deep a lenglhen'd sigh he drew. 
A doleful sound, and vanish'd from the view : 
The frighten'd billows gave a rolling swell. 
And, distant far, prolong'd the dismal yell, 
Faint and more faint the howling echoes die. 
And the black cloud dispersing, leaves the sky. 
High to the angel-host, whose guardian care 
Had ever round us watch'd, my hands I rear, 
And Heaven's dread King implore : ' As o'er our head 
The fiend dissolv'd, an empty shadow fled ; 
So may his curses, by the winds of heav'n, 
Far o'er the deep, their idle sport, be driv'n ! ' " 

With sacred horror thrill'd, Melinda's lord 
Held up the eager hand, and caught the word. 
" Oh, wondrous faith of ancient days," he cries, 
" Concealed in mystic lore and dark disguise ! 
Taught by their sires, our hoary fathers tell, 
On these rude shores a giant spectre fell. 
What time from heaven the rebel band were thrown : 



339 



340 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

And oft the wand'ring swain has heard his moan. 
While o'er tlie wave the clouded moon appears 
To hide her weeping face, his voice he rears 
O'er the wild storm. Deep in the days of yore, 
A holy pilgrim trod the nightly shore ; 
Stern groans he heard ; by ghostly spells controll'd, 
His fate, mysterious, thus the spectre told : 

" * By forceful Titan's warm embrace compress'd, 
The rock-ribb'd mother, Earth, his love confess'd: 
The hundred-handed giant at a birth, 
And me, she bore, nor slept my hopes on earth ; 
My heart avow'd my sire's ethereal fiame ; 
Great Adamastor, then, my dreaded name. 
In my bold brother's glorious toils engaged, 
Tremendous war against the gods I waged : 
Yet, not to reach the throne of heaven I try, 
With mountain pil'd on mountain to the sky ; 
To me the conquest of the seas befell. 
In his green realm the second Jove to quell. 
Nor did ambition all my passions hold, 
'T was love that prompted an attempt so bold. 
Ah me, one summer in the cool of day, 
1 saw the Nereids on the sandy bay, 
With lovely Thetis from the wave advance 
In mirthful frolic, and the naked dance. 
In all her charms reveal'd the goddess trod, 
With fiercest fires my struggling bosom glow'd; 
Yet, yet I feel them burning in my heart. 
And hopeless, languish with the raging smart. 
For her, each goddess of the heavens I scorn'd, 
For her alone my fervent ardor burn'd. 
In vain I woo'd her to the lover's bed. 
From my grim form, with horror, mute she fled. 
Madd'ning with love, by force I ween to gain 
The silver goddess of the blue domain ; 
To the hoar mother of the Nereid band 
I tell my purpose, and her aid command: 
By fear impell'd, old Doris tried to move, 
And win the spouse of Peleus to my love. 
The silver goddess with a smile replies, 
' What nymph can yield her charms a giant's prize! 
Yet, from the horrors of a war to save. 
And guard in peace our empire of the wave, 
Whate'er with honor he may hope to gain. 
That, let him hope his wish shall soon attain.' 
The promis'd grace infus'd a bolder fire, 
And shook my mighty limbs with fierce desire. 
But ah, what error spreads its dreadful night, 
What phantoms hover o'er the lover's sight ! 



THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD. 



341 



The war resign'd, my steps by Doris led, 

While gentle eve her shadowy mantle spread, 

Before my steps the snowy Thetis shone 

In all her charms, all naked, and alone. 

Swift as the wind with open arms 1 sprung, 

And, round her waist with joy delirious clung : 

In all the transports of the warm embrace, 

A hundred kisses on her angel face, 

On all its various charms my rage bestows, 

And, on her cheek, my cheek enraptur'd glows. 

When oh, what anguish while my shame I tell ! 

What fix'd despair, what rage my bosom swell ! 

Here was no goddess, here no heavenly charms, 

A rugged mountain fill'd my eager arms, 

Whose rocky top, o'erhung with matted brier. 

Received the kisses of my am'rous fire. 

Wak'd from my dream, cold horror freez'd my blood; 

Fix'd as a rock, before the rock I stood ; 

' O fairest goddess of the ocean train. 

Behold the triumph of thy proud disdain; 

Yet why,' I cried, ' with all I wish'd decoy, 

And, when exulting in the dream of joy, 

A horrid mountain to mine arms convey ? ' 

Madd'ning I spoke, and furious sprung away. 

Far to the south I sought the world unknown. 

Where I, unheard, unscorn'd, might wail alone. 

My foul dishonor, and my tears to hide, 

And shun the triumph of the goddess' pride. 

My brothers, now, by Jove's red arm o'erthrown, 

Beneath huge mountains pil'd on mountains groan; 

And I, who taught each echo to deplore. 

And tell my sorrows to the desert shore, 

I felt the hand of Jove my crimes pursue, 

My stiff' ning flesh to earthy ridges grew, 

And my huge bones, no more by marrow warm'd, 

To horrid piles, and ribs of rock transformed, 

Yon dark-brow'd cape of monstrous size became, 

Where, round me still, in triumph o'er my shame, 

The siiv'ry Thetis bids her surges roar, 

And waft my groans along the dreary shore. ' " 

Mickle's Translation^ Canto V. 



THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 

THE Gerusalemme Liberata, or Jerusalem Delivered, 
was written by Torquato Tasso, who was born at 
Sorrento, March ii, 1544. He was educated at Naples, 
Urbino, Rome, Venice, Padua, and Bologna. In 1572 he 
attached himself to the court of Ferrara, which he had 
visited in 1565 in the suite of the Cardinal d'Este, and by 
whose duke he had been treated with great consideration. 
Here his pastoral drama " Aminta " was written and performed, 
and here he began to write his epic. The duke, angry 
because of Tasso's affection for his sister Eleanora, and fear- 
ful lest the poet should dedicate his poem to the Medicis, 
whom he visited in 1575, and into whose service he was 
asked to enter, kept him under strict surveillance, and pre- 
tended to regard him as insane. Feigning sympathy and a 
desire to restore his mind, he had the unfortunate poet con- 
fined in a mad-house. Tasso escaped several times, but 
each time returned in the hope of a reconciliation with the 
duke. During his confinement his poem was published 
without his permission : first in 1580, a very imperfect ver- 
sion ; in 1 58 1, a genuine one. This at once brought him 
great fame ; but while its publishers made a fortune, Tasso 
received nothing. Neither did the duke relent, although 
powerful influences were brought to bear on him. Tasso 
was not released until 1586, and then, broken in health, he 
passed the rest of his life in Rome and Naples, living on 
charity, though treated with great honor. He died in Rome, 
April 25, 1595, just before he was to have been crowned at 
the capitol. 

The Jerusalem Delivered has for its subject the first 
Crusade, and the events recorded in its twenty cantos com- 



344 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



prise the happenings in the camp of the Crusaders during 
forty days of the campaign of 1099. Its metre is the ottava 
rlma, the eight hned rhymed stanza. 

Tasso was not so successful in the delineation of character 
and in the description of actions as in the interpretation of 
feeHng, being by nature a lyric rather than an epic poet. 
But his happy choice of subject, — for the Crusades were 
still fresh in the memory of the people, and chivalry was a 
thing of the present — his zeal for the Christian cause, his 
impassioned dehneations of love, and his exquisitely poetical 
treatment of his whole theme, rendered his epic irresistible. 

Bibliography and Criticism, the Jerusalem Deliv- 
ered. J. Black's Life of Tasso (with a historical and critical 
account of his writings), 2 vols. 1810; E. J. Hasell's Tasso, 
1882; Rev. Robert Milman's Life of Tasso, 2 vols. 1850; 
Dennistown's Memoirs of the Dukes of Urbino, 1851, iii., 
292-316 j Hallam's Introduction to the Literature of Europe 
in the 15th, i6th, and 17th Centuries, 1839, ii., 192-199; 
Leigh Hunt's Stories from Italian Poets, 1888, ii., 289-474; 
Longfellow's Poets and Poetry of Europe, 1845, PP- 5^^~577 '> 
Sismondi's Literature of the South of Europe, Ed. 2, 1846, 
i., 359-391; J. A. Symonds's Renaissance in Italy, 1886, 
vol. 2, chapters 7-8; Edin. Rev., Oct. 1850, xcii., 294-302 ; 
Blackwood, 1845, ^^i^v 4oi~4f4^ Quarterly Review, Jan. 
1857, ci., 59-68. 

Standard English Translations, the Jerusalem 
Delivered. Jerusalem Delivered, Tr. from the Italian 
by John Hoole. First American from Eighth London Edi- 
tion, 2 vols., 1810; Jerusalem Delivered, Tr. into English 
Spenserian verse with life of the author by J. H. Wiffen. 
New ed., 1883 ; Jerusalem Delivered, Tr. by Sir John Kings- 
ton James, 2 vols., 1884; Jerusalem Delivered, Tr. into the 
metre of the original by C. L. Smith, 1876-79 ; Jerusalem 
Delivered, Tr. by Sir Edward Fairfax and edited by Prof. 
Henry Morley, 1889. 



THE STORY OF JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 345 



THE STORY OF THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 

The Eternal Father looked down from His lofty throne 
upon the Christian powers in Syria. In the six years tliey 
had spent in the East they had taken Nice and Antioch. 
Now, while inactive in winter quarters, Bohemond was 
strengthening himself in Antioch, and the other chiefs 
were thinking of glory or love ; but Godfrey, to whom re- 
nown was the meanest of glories, was burning to win Jeru- 
salem and restore it to the faith. Inspired by Gabriel, 
despatched by the Eternal Father, Godfrey called a council, 
and with an eloquence and fire more than mortal, roused 
the Christians to action. "We came not here to raise 
empires ; the period has come when all the world is waiting 
for our next step. Now is the propitious moment. If we 
delay longer, Egypt will step in to the aid of our Syrian 
foe ! " 

Godfrey was unanimously elected chief, and immediate 
arrangements were made for the setting out to Jerusalem. 
Godfrey first reviewed the army. A thousand men marched 
under the lilied banner of Clotharius ; a thousand more from 
the Norman meads under Robert ; from Orange and Puy, 
troops came under the priests William and Ademar. Bald- 
win led his own and Godfi-ey's bands, and Guelpho, allied 
to the house of Este, brought his strong Carinthians. Other 
troops of horse and foot were led by William of England. 
After him came the young Tancred, the flower of chivalry, 
blighted now, alas ! by unrequited love. He had seen by 
chance the pagan maid Clorinda, the Amazon, drinking at 
a pool in the forest, and had forgot all else in his love for 
her. After him came the small Greek force under Tatine ; 
next, the invincible Adventurers under Dudon, bravest of 
men. Following these were Otho, Edward and his sweet 
bride Gildippe, who, unwilling to be separated from her hus- 
band, fought at his side, and, excellent above all others, the 



346 NATIONAL EPICS. 

young Rinaldo, whose glorious deeds were yet but a promise 
of his great future. While but a boy he had escaped from the 
care of his foster mother, Queen Matilda, and hastened to 
join the Crusaders. The review was closed by the array of 
foot soldiers led by Raymond, Stephen of Amboise, Alcasto, 
and Camillus. The pageant having passed by, Godfrey 
despatched a messenger to summon Sweno the Dane, who 
with his forces was still tarrying in Greece, and at once set 
out for Jerusalem. 

Swift rumor had conveyed the tidings of his approach to 
Aladine, King of Jerusalem, a merciless tyrant, who, enraged, 
immediately laid heavier taxes upon the unfortunate Chris- 
tians in his city. Ismeno, a sorcerer, once a Christian, but 
now a pagan who practised all black arts, penetrated to the 
presence of the king and advised him to steal from the 
temple of the Christians an image of the Virgin and put it in 
his mosque, assuring him that he would thus render his city 
impregnable. This was done, and Ismeno wrought his 
spells about the image, but the next morning it had dis- 
appeared. After a fruitless search for the image and the 
offender, the angry king sentenced all the Franks to death. 
The beautiful maid Sophronia, determined to save her 
people, assumed the guilt, and was sentenced to be burned. 
As she stood chained to the stake, her lover, Olindo, to 
whom she had ever been cold, saw her, and in agony at her 
sacrifice, declared to the king that Sophronia had Hed and 
that he was the purloiner of the image. The cruel monarch 
ordered him also to be tied to the stake, that they might die 
together ; and the flames had just been applied when the two 
were saved by the Amazon Clorinda, who convinced the 
king that the Christians were innocent and that Allah him- 
self, incensed at the desecration, had snatched away the 
image. 

To the camp of Godfrey at Emmaus came two ambassa- 
dors from the king of Egypt, Alethes, a supple crafty 
courtier of low lineage, and Argantes, a haughty and power- 
ful warrior. But their efforts to keep Godfrey from Jerusa- 
lem, first by persuasion, and then by threats, were in vain. 



THE STORY OF JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 347 

They were dismissed from the camp, and the army pro- 
ceeded on its way. 

When the walls and towers of the city where Messias died 
came in sight, the Christian army, crying "All Hail, Jerusa- 
lem ! " laid aside their casques, and, shedding tears, trod 
barefoot the consecrated way. 

At sight of the Franks, the pagans hastened to strengthen 
the fortifications of their city, and Aladine from a lofty tower 
watched Clorinda attack a band of Franks returning from a 
foray. At his side was the lovely Erminia, daughter of the 
King of Antioch, who had sought Jerusalem after the down- 
fall of her city. 

Erminia instructed Aladine of the various crusaders, and 
when she pointed out the noble Tancred, who had treated 
her with such consideration in Antioch, she felt her love for 
him revive, though she pretended to the king to hate him for 
his cruelty. Tancred recognized among the leaders of the 
pagans Clorinda, bereft of her helmet, and for love of her, 
refused to fight her. The pagans, driven back by the Chris- 
tians, were rallied by Argantes, but only to be met by the 
matchless Adventurers under Dudon. When Dudon fell, 
tlie troops under Rinaldo, burning for revenge, reluctantly 
obeyed Godfrey's summons to return. 

The funeral rites over, the artificers were sent to the 
forest to fell the trees, that engines might be fabricated for 
the destruction of the city walls. 

Angry at the success of the Franks, Satan stirred up the 
infernal regions, and set loose his friends to work destruction 
to the Christians. One he despatched to the wizard Idra- 
otes, at Damascus, who conceived the scheme of sending 
his beautiful niece Armida to ensnare the Christians. In a 
few days Armida appeared among the white pavilions of 
the Franks, attracting the attention and winning the love of 
all who saw her. Her golden locks appeared through her 
veil as the sunshine gleams through the stormy skies ; her 
charms were sufficiently hidden to make them the more 
alluring. So attired, modestly seeking the camp of Godfrey, 
she was met by Eustace, his young brother, and taken to the 
prince. 



348 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



With many tears and sighs, she told her pitiful story. 
She had been driven from her kingdom, an orphan, by the 
envy and wickedness of her uncle, and had come to ask the 
Christians to aid her in regaining her rights. Unfortunately 
for her success, slie and her uncle had not calculated on 
Godfrey's absorption in his divine undertaking. He was 
proof against her charms, and was determined not to be 
delayed longer in laying siege to the city. It required the 
utmost persuasion of Eustace to induce him to permit ten of 
the Adventurers to accompany her. Armida, though disap- 
pointed in Godfrey's lack of susceptibility, employed her 
time so well while in camp that when she departed with the 
ten Adventurers chosen by lot, she was followed secretly by 
Eustace and many others who had not been chosen, but 
who were madly in love with her. 

Before his departure, Eustace, jealous of Rinaldo, whom 
he was fearful Armida might admire, had persuaded him 
to aspire to the place of Dudon, to whom a successor must 
be elected. Gernando of Norway desired the same place, 
and, angry that the popular Rinaldo should be his rival, 
scattered through the camp rumors disparaging to his 
character : Rinaldo was vain and arrogant ; Rinaldo was 
rash, not brave ; Rinaldo's virtues were all vices. At last, 
stung past endurance by his taunts and insinuations, Rinaldo 
gave the lie to his traducer, and slew him in fair fight. 
False reports were taken to Godfrey by Rinaldo's enemies, 
and the ruler determined to punish the youth severely ; but 
he, warned by his friends, escaped from camp and fled to 
Antioch. To Godfrey, deprived thus of Rinaldo and many 
of his brave Adventurers, was brought the tidings that the 
Egyptian expedition was on its way, and that a ship laden 
with provisions had been intercepted on its way to his camp. 

The bold Argantes, weary of the restraint of the siege, 
sent a challenge to the Christians, saying he would meet 
any Frank, high-born or low, in single combat, the condi- 
tions being that the vanquished should serve the victor. 
A thousand knights burned to accept the challenge, but 
Godfrey named Tancred, who proudly buckled on his 



THE STORY OF JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 349 

armor and called for his steed. As he approached the 
field, he saw among the pagan hosts, who stood around to 
view the combat, the fair face of Clorinda, and stood gazing 
at her, forgetful of all else. Otho, seeing his delay, spurred 
on his horse, and fought till vanquished- Then Tancred 
woke from his stupor, and, burning with shame, rushed for- 
ward. The battle raged until night fell, and the weary war- 
riors ceased, pledging themselves to return on the morrow. 

Erminia, shut up in Jerusalem, mourned over the wounds 
of Tancred. She knew many heahng balms, by which, were 
she with him, she might heal him and make him ready for 
the morrow's fight; but she was forced to administer them 
to his enemy instead. Unable to endure the suspense 
longer, she put on her friend Clorinda's armor and fled to 
the Christian camp to find her beloved. The Franks, who 
spied her, supposed her Clorinda, and pursued her ; but she 
succeeded in reaching a woodland retreat, where she deter- 
mined to remain with the kind old shepherd and his wife 
who had fled from the disappointments of the court and 
had here sought and found peace in their humble home. 
When Tancred heard from his followers that they had driven 
Clorinda from the camps, he determined to pursue' and speak 
with her. Rising from his bed he sought the forest only 
to fall into the wiles of Armida, and be lured into a castle, 
in whose dungeon he lay, consumed with shame at the 
thought of his unexplained absence from the morrow's 
combat. 

When morning dawned and Tancred did not appear, the 
good old Count Raymond went forth to meet Argantes. 
When he was about to overcome his antagonist, an arrow 
shot from the pagan ranks brought on a general conflict, in 
which the Christians were successful until a storm, summoned 
by the powers of darkness, put an end to the battle. The 
next morning a knight came to the camp of Godfrey to tell 
of Sweno's defeat and slaughter. He, the sole survivor of 
the band, had been commissioned by some supernatural 
visitants to bring Sweno's sword to Rinaldo. 

While Godfrey's heart was wrung by this disaster, the 



350 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



camp of Italians, led to suppose by some bloody armor 
found in a wood that Rinaldo had been treacherously slain 
with the connivance of Godfrey, accused the chief and stirred 
up the camp to revolt; but Godfrey, praying to Heaven 
for strength to meet his enemies^ walked through the camp 
firmly and unfalteringly, unarmed and with head bare, his 
face still bright with the heavenly light left there by spiritual 
communion, and silenced the tumult by a few well-chosen 
words. His arch-accuser Argillan he sentenced to death; 
the others crept back to their tents in shame. 

The Soldan Solyman, driven from Nice at its capture, 
had joined the Turks, and, spurred on by hate and fury, 
made a night attack on the Frankish camp. The Franks, 
saved only by the interposition of the angel Michael, and 
by the troops just returned, released from iVrmida's enchant- 
ment, fought fiercely, and at dawn put Solyman to flight. 
By the arts of Ismeno he was conveyed to Jerusalem by a 
secret way, where he cheered the discouraged Aladine. 

Before attempting to storm the city, the Christian troops, 
by the advice of Peter the Hermit, walked in a long proces- 
sion to Mt. Olivet, filling the heavens with melody, and 
there partook of the communion administered by the war- 
rior priests, William and Ademar. The next morning, God- 
frey, in the light armor of a foot-soldier, appeared with his 
barons, prepared for the storm. The troops were arranged 
carefully, the huge engines were moved forward, and the 
Franks made a bold attempt against the walls, from the top 
of which Clorinda aimed her arrows, wounding and slaying 
many men. Godfrey himself was wounded, but was healed 
by divine aid, and immediately returned to the field to rally 
his troops. Night fell, and the contest was deferred until 
another day. 

Clorinda, burning to distinguish herself, determined to 
fire the huge towers of the Christians. Her eunuch tried to 
dissuade her because he had been warned in a dream that 
she would this night meet her death. He told her her 
history. Her mother was a Christian wjio had been com- 
pelled to put her infant away from her. This eunuch 



THE STORY OF JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 351 

had rescued her from death and brought her up, failing, 
however, to obey an angel's command to have her baptized 
a Christian. 

Clorinda would not heed his caution, but went forth and 
fired the Frankish machines. She and the fleeing pagans 
were pursued by the Christians ; and while her companions 
reached the city in safety, she was accidentally shut out 
and met Tancred in mortal combat. She refused to tell her 
name until she felt her death-wound, and then she prayed 
her enemy to baptize her, that she might die a Christian. 
The broken-hearted Tancred fell fainting on her corpse, and 
was found there the next morning by the Franks. Neither his 
comrades, nor Godfrey and Peter the Hermit, were able to 
rouse him from his melancholy. 

Their machines destroyed, timbers were needed by the 
Franks to construct new ones. Knowing this, Ismeno laid 
spells on the forest, so that the warriors sent thither by God- 
frey were frightened away by the sights they saw therein. 
Even Tancred was put to flight when one of the demons 
took the form of his beloved Clorinda. To add to the 
discomfort of the Franks, excessive heat overpowered them, 
and they suffered tortures from lack of water until the 
prayers of Godfrey moved the Ruler of the Earth with pity, 
and He sent down the longed-for showers. 

Delighted with the piety of Godfrey, the Great King sent 
him a dream by which he might know the will of Heaven. 
Lifted through the whirling spheres, his ears charmed with 
their music, his eyes dazzled by the brilliancy of the stars, 
he saw Duke Hugo, who told him that Rinaldo must be 
sought out before the conquest of Jerusalem could be accom- 
plished. The same Power influenced the princes in council 
so that by the will of all, two knights, one of them him to 
whom Sweno's sword had been given, were despatched to seek 
Rinaldo. Instructed by Peter the Hermit, they sought the 
sea-coast, and found a wizard, who, after showing them the 
splendor of his underground abode beneath the river's bed, 
revealed to them the way in which they were to overcome 
the wiles of Armida. 



352 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



A beautiful maid with dove-like eyes and radiant smile 
received them in her small bark, and they were soon flying 
over the sea, marvelling at the rich cities and vast fleets by 
which they passed. Leaving rich Cadiz and the Pillars of 
Hercules, they sped out into the unknown sea, while the 
maiden told them of how some day Columbus would venture 
into unknown seas to find a new continent. On, on they 
flew, past the Happy Isles, the Fortunate, long the song of 
the poet ; where the olive and honey made happy the land, 
and the rivers swept down from the mountains in silver 
streamlets ; where every bird-song was heavenly music, a 
place so divine that there were placed of old the Elysian 
fields. To one of these islands the lady steered, and the 
knights disembarked, and started on their perilous journey 
up the mountain. Following the wizard's instructions, they 
waved the golden rod at the monstrous serpents hissing in 
their pathway, and they vanished; they steeled their hearts 
against the charms of the voluptuous maids bathing in the 
lake, and passed without tasting the fountain of laughter. 
Then the spacious palace met their eyes. Built round a 
garden, its marble courts and unnumbered galleries formed 
a trackless maze through which they could never have found 
their way without the aid of the wizard's map. As they trod 
the marble floors they paused many times to view the match- 
less carvings on the silver doors, which told anew the beauti- 
ful old stories of love triumphant. 

Once through the winding ways, they entered the wonder- 
ful garden which art and nature combined to render the 
most beautiful spot on earth. The same trees bore ripe 
fruit, buds, and blossoms ; the birds sang joyfully in the 
green bowers ; and the faint breezes echoed their song. 
One bird sang a song of love, and when the tender melody 
was done the other birds took it up and sang until the forest 
rang with melody, and all was love, love, love. Then the 
knights saw Rinaldo, lying in the grove, his head in the lap 
of the enchantress. His sword was gone from his side, and 
in its place hung a mirror in which he sometimes gazed at 
Armida's reflection. When Armida left him alone for a few 



THE STORY OF JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 353 

hours, the knights surprised Rinaldo, and turned the wizard's 
diamond shield upon him. For the first time he saw him- 
self as others saw him, and, blushing with shame, announced 
himself ready to return with them to rescue Jerusalem. 
Tearing off his ornaments, he hastened down the mountain, 
but not soon enough to escape Armida. Tears, prayers, 
threats she used in vain. She had captured him when he 
fled from the camp, intending to slay him ; but moved by 
his beauty, she had spared him, and falling in love with him, 
had reared this palace that they might in it revel in love's 
pleasures. Now, miserable, she saw him desert her, and 
destroying the beautiful haunt, she drove her swift chariot 
across the seas to the camp of the Egyptian king, who was 
hastening towards Jerusalem. Intent on the slaughter of 
Rinaldo, her love for whom had changed to bitter hate, she 
offered the warriors of the Egyptian king, all of whom had 
fallen victims to her charms, her hand as a reward to the 
slayer of Rinaldo. 

When Rinaldo and his rescuers reached the abode of the 
wizard they found him waiting with new arms for the young 
hero. The sage reproached him gently for his dalliance, 
and then, seeing the blush of shame upon his countenance, 
showed him the shield, which bore the illustrious deeds of 
his ancestors of the house of Este. Great as were their past 
glories, still greater would be those of the family which he 
should found, greatest of whom would be the Duke Alphonso. 

Rinaldo, having told his story to Godfrey, and confessed 
his wrong-doing to Peter the Hermit, proceeded to the 
enchanted forest ; and though as beauteous scenes, and as 
voluptuous sirens displayed themselves to him as dwelt in 
Armida's garden, yea, though one tree took the semblance 
of Armida herself, he boldly hacked the trunk and broke the 
magic spell. Joyfully the Franks set to work to fell the 
huge trees and construct vaster, stronger engines than before, 
under the direction of a master mechanic. At the same 
time, Vafrino, a cunning squire of Tancred, was commissioned 
to go forth in disguise and inspect the camp of the coming 
Egyptian king. Even before he departed, a carrier pigeon, 

23 



354 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



driven back by a hawk, fell into Godfrey's hands, bearing a 
message to Aladine from Egypt, saying that in four or five 
days he would be with him in Jerusalem. 

Godfrey, determined to take the city before that day 
should come, made the utmost exertions to have the ma- 
chines completed. In Jerusalem, also, great preparations 
were made, machines built, and a fearful fire concocted by 
Ismeno with which to drive the assaulters from the wall. 

Shriven by the priests, the Christian army went forth to 
battle. Godfrey took his stand against the northern gate ; 
Raymond was assigned to the steep sharp crags at the south- 
west walls, and Guelph and the two Roberts were stationed 
on the track to Gaza to watch for the Egyptians. 

The pagans fought with great fury, bringing out new 
instruments to oppose the huge battering rams, raining down 
arrows, and throwing the suffocating fire. But Rinaldo, to 
whom all this work appeared too slow, urged on his bold 
Adventurers to form a tortoise, hastened to the wall, seized a 
scaling-ladder, and, unmoved by any missile, mounted the 
wall and assisted his followers, in spite of the multitudes who 
surrounded him, attempting to hurl him down. But as 
Godfrey advanced, Ismeno launched his terrible fire-balls, 
more horrible than the flames of Mt. Etna; they affected 
even the vast tower, swelHng and drying the heavy skins 
that covered its sides until protecting Heaven sent a breeze 
that drove the flames back to the city. Ismeno, accom- 
panied by two witches, hurried to the wall, but was crushed 
by a stone that ground his and their bones to powder. 
Godfrey, inspired by a vision of the slain soldiery fighting in 
his ranks, leaped upon the wall and planted the red-cross 
flag. Raymond was also successful, and the Christians 
rushed over the walls into the town, following Aladine, who 
hastened to shut himself up in the citadel. 

While the battle was raging, but success was assured to 
the Christians, Tancred and the terrible Argantes met, and 
glad of an opportunity to settle their quarrel, withdrew to a 
glade in the forest. Tancred, stung by the taunts of coward- 
ice for his former failure to keep his appointment, fought 



THE STORY OF JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 353 

bitterly. He had not the sheer strength of his antagonist, 
but his sleight at last overcame, and Argantes fell. Weak- 
ened by pain and loss of blood, Tancred fell senseless, and 
was thus found by Erminia, who had met Vafrino the spy 
in the camp of the Egyptians and had fled with him. They 
revived Tancred, and carried him home to be nursed by 
the delighted Erminia. 

Vafrino had seen Armida in the camp and had learned 
through Erminia not only the princes' designs on Rinaldo, 
but also that they meant to assume the signs of the red-cross 
knights and thus reach the neighborhood of Godfrey and 
slay him. On this intelligence Godfrey changed the signs 
of his men that they might recognize the Egyptians on the 
following day and put them to death. 

Terrible to the Franks was the sight of the Egyptian army 
when they opened their eyes upon it next morning. Clouds 
of dust obscured all the heavens, hills, and valleys, so great 
was the coming host. But Godfrey, with an eloquence that 
fired each soul, told them of the helplessness of the enemy, 
of how many of them were slaves, scourged to the battle, 
and reminded them of the great undertaking before them, 
the saving of the Sepulchre, until fired with zeal, and burn- 
ing to fight, they rushed into battle and dispersed the Egyp- 
tians. Many of the Christians fell by the sword of the 
terrible Soldan, among them Gildippe and her husband, 
united in death as in life. Rinaldo, hearing of their slaugh- 
ter, speedily avenged it by laying the Soldan low on the 
battle-field. 

One after another of Armida's champions attacked Rinaldo, 
determined to win the prize, but his good sword sent them 
to earth, and Armida was left alone and unprotected. Rinaldo, 
having seen her fly away over the plain and knowing the 
victory achieved, followed and found her ready to put her- 
self to death in a lonely glade. He snatched the sword 
from her hand and speedily changed back her hate to love. 
She fell upon his breast, and with the promise to become a 
Christian and give her life to him, accompanied him back 
to the city. 



356 NATIONAL EPICS. 

During the battle, Aladine and those who were imprisoned 
in the citadel overpowered Count Raymond, and rushed out 
to battle, only to be overcome and slain. Prince Altamore, 
who, covered with blood, remained alone on the field, yielded 
himself to Godfrey, and was given his life and his kingdom. 

Then, from the field covered with spoil and floating with 
blood, the conquering troops, clad in their bloody armor, 
marched in solemn cavalcade to the Temple and paid their 
vowed devotions at the sacred tomb. 



SELECTION FROM THE JERUSALEM 
DELIVERED. 

SOPHRONIA AND OLINDO. 

At the instigation of the wizard Ismeno, Aladine, king of 
Jerusalem, stole an image of the Virgin from the temple of the 
Christians and put it in his mosque in order to render the city 
impregnable. When morning dawned the image was gone, and 
no search could reveal any clue to the theft. 

In every temple, hermitage, and hall, 
A long and eager search the monarch made, 
And tortures or rewards decreed to all 
Who screened the guilty, or the guilt betrayed ; 
Nor ceased the Sorcerer to employ in aid 
Of the inquiry all his arts, but still 
Without success; for whether Heaven conveyed 
The prize away, or power of human will, 
Heaven close the secret kept, and shamed his vaunted skill. 

But when the king found all expedients vain 
To trace th' offender, then, beyond disguise, 
Flamed forth his hatred to the Christians ; then, 
Fed by wild jealousies and sharp surmise, 
Immoderate fury sparkled in his eyes ; 
Follow what may, he will revenge the deed, 
And wreak his rage : " Our wrath shall not," he cries, 
" Fall void, but root up all th' accursed seed ; 
Thus in the general doom the guilty yet shall bleed ! 



THE STORY OF JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 357 

" So that he 'scapes not, let the guiltless die ! 
But wherefore thus of guiltlessness debate ? 
Each guilty is, nor 'mongst them all know I 
One, well-affected to the faith and state j 
And what if some be unparticipate 
In this new crime, new punishment shall pay 
For old misdeeds ; why longer do ye wait, 
My faithful Mussulmans ? up ! up ! away ! 
Hence with the torch and sword: seize, fire, lay waste, and slay 1 *' 

Thus to the crowd he spake, the mandate flew, 
And in the bosoms of the Faithful shed 
Astonishment and stupor ; stupor threw 
On every face the paleness of the dead ; 
None dared, none sought to make defence ; none fled, 
None used entreaty, none excuse ; but there 
They stood, like marble monuments of dread. 
Irresolute, — but Heaven conceived their prayer. 
And whence they least had hope, brought hope to their despair. 

Of generous thoughts and principles sublime 
Amongst them in the city lived a maid, 
The flower of virgins in her ripest prime, 
Supremely beautiful ! but that she made 
Never her care, or beauty only weighed 
In worth with virtue ; and her worth acquired 
A deeper charm from blooming in the shade ; 
Lovers she shunned, nor loved to be admired. 
But from their praises turned, and lived a life retired. 

Yet could not this coy secrecy prevent 
Th' admiring gaze and warm desires of one 
Tutored by Love, nor yet would Love consent 
To hide such lustrous beauty from the sun ; 
Love ! that through every change delight' st to run, 
The Proteus of the heart ! who now dost blind, 
Now roll the Argus eyes that nought can shun ! 
Thou through a thousand guards unseen dost wind, 
And to the chastest maids familiar access find, 

Sophronia hers, Olindo was his name ; 
Born in one town, by one pure faith illumed ; 
Modest — as she was beautiful, his flame 
Feared much, hoped little, and in nought presumed ; 
He could not, or he durst not speak, but doomed 
To voiceless thought his passion ; him she slighted, 
Saw not, or would not see ; thus he consumed 
Beneath the vivid fire her beauty lighted ; 
Either not seen ill known, or, known, but ill requited. 



358 NATIONAL EPICS. 

And thus it was, when like an omen drear 
That summoned all her kindred to the grave, 
The cruel mandate reached Sophronia's ear, 
Who, brave as bashful, yet discreet as brave, 
Mused how her people she from death might save ; 
Courage inspired, but virginal alarm 
Repressed the thought, till maiden shyness gave 
Place to resolve, or joined to share the harm ; 
Boldness awoke her shame, shame made her boldness charm. 

Alone amidst the crowd the maid proceeds, 
Nor seeks to hide her beauty, nor display ; 
Downcast her eyes, close veiled in simple weeds, 
With coy and graceful steps she wins her way : 
So negligently neat, one scarce can say 
If she her charms disaains, or would improve, — 
If chance or taste disposes her array ; 
Neglects like hers, if artifices, prove 
Arts of the friendly Heavens, of Nature, and of Love. 

All, as she passed unheeding, all, admire 
The noble maid; before the king she stood; 
Not for his angry frown did she retire, 
But his indignant aspect coolly viewed : 
" To give," — she said, " but calm thy wrathful mood. 
And check the tide of slaughter in its spring, — 
To give account of that thou hast pursued 
So long in vain, seek I thy face, O king ! 
The urged offence I own, the doomed offender bring ! " 

The modest warmth, the unexpected light 
Of high and holy beauty, for a space 
O'erpowered him, — conquered of his fell despite, 
He stood, and of all fierceness lost the trace. 
Were his a spirit, or were hers a face 
Of less severity, the sweet surprise 
Had melted him to love ; but stubborn grace 
Subdues not stubborn pride ; Love's potent ties 
Are flattering fond regards, kind looks, and smiling eyes. 

If 't were not Love that touched his flinty soul. 
Desire it was, 't was wonder, 't was delight : 
" Safe be thy race ! " he said, " reveal the whole. 
And not a sword shall on thy people light." 
Then she : " The guilty is before thy sight, — 
The pious robbery was my deed ; these hands 
Bore the blest Image from its cell by night ; 
The criminal thou seek'st before thee stands, — 
Justice from none but me her penalty demands." 



THE STORY OF JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 359 

Thus she prepares a public death to meet, 
A people's ransom at a tyrant's shrine : 
Oh glorious falsehood ! beautiful deceit ! 
Can Truth's own light thy loveliness outshine ? 
To her bold speech misdoubting Aladine 
With unaccustomed temper calm replied : 
" If so it were, who planned the rash design, 
Advised thee to it, or became thy guide ? 
Say, with thyself who else his ill-timed zeal allied ? " 

" Of this my glory not the slightest part 
Would I," said she, "with one confederate share; 
I needed no adviser ; my full heart 
Alone sufficed to counsel, guide and dare." 
" If so," he cried, " then none but thou must bear 
The weight of my resentment, and atone 
For the misdeed." " Since it has been my care," 
She said, " the glory to enjoy alone, 
'T is just none share the pain ; it should be all mine own." 

To this the tyrant, now incensed, returned, 
" Where rests the Image ? " and his face became 
Dark with resentment : she replied, " I burned 
The holy Image in the holy flame. 
And deemed it glory; thus at least no shame 
Can e'er again profane it — it is free 
From farther violation : dost thou claim 
The spoil or spoiler ? this behold in me ; 
But that, whilst time rolls round, thou never more shalt see. 

" Albeit no spoiler I ; it was no wrong 
To repossess what was by force obtained : " 
At this the tyrant loosed his threatening tongue, 
Long-stifled passion raging unrestrained : 
No longer hope that pardon may be gained. 
Beautiful face, high spirit, bashful heart ! 
Vainly would Love, since mercy is disdained, 
And Anger flings his most envenomed dart, 
In aid of you his else protecting shield impart ! 

Doomed in tormenting fire to die, they lay 
Hands on the maid ; her arms with rough cords twining, 
Rudely her mantle chaste they tear away, 
And the white veil that o'er her drooped declining : 
This she endured in silence unrepining. 
Yet her firm breast some virgin tremors shook ; 
And her warm cheek, Aurora's late outshining. 
Waned into whiteness, and a color took. 
Like that of the pale rose, or lily of the brook. 



360 NATIONAL EPICS. 

The crowd collect ; the sentence is divulged ; 
With them Olindo comes, by pity swayed ; 
It might be that the youth the thought indulged, 
What if his own Sophronia were the maid ! 
There stand the busy officers arrayed 
For the last act, here swift the flames arise ; 
But when the pinioned beauty stands displayed 
To the full gaze of his inquiring eyes, — 
"'TIS she ! he bursts through all, the crowd before him flies. 

Aloud he cries : "To her, oh not to her 
The crime belongs, though frenzy may misplead ! 
She planned not, dared not, could not, king, incur 
Sole and unskilled the guilt of such a deed ! 
How lull the guards, or by what process speed 
The sacred Image from its vaulted cell ? 
The theft was mine ! and 't is my right to bleed ! " 
Alas for him ! how wildly and how well 
He loved the unloving maid, let this avowal tell. 

" I marked where your high Mosque receives the air 
And light of heaven ; I climbed the dizzy steep ; 
I reached a naiTow opening ; entered there. 
And stole the Saint whilst all were hushed in sleep : 
Mine was the crime, and shall another reap 
The pain and glory ? Grant not her desire ! 
The chains are mine ; for me the guards may heap 
Around the ready stake the penal fire; 
For me the flames ascend ; 't is mine, that funeral pyre ! " 

Sophronia raised to him her face, — her eye 
Was filled with pity and a starting tear : 
She spoke — the soul of sad humanity 
Was in her voice, " What frenzy brings thee here. 
Unhappy innocent ! is death so dear. 
Or am I so ill able to sustain 
A mortal's wrath, that thou must needs appear ? 
I have a heart, too, that can death disdain, 
Nor ask for life's last hour companionship in pain." 

Thus she appeals to him ; but scorning life, 
His settled soul refuses to retreat : 
Oh glorious scene, where in sublimest strife 
High-minded Virtue and Affection meet ! 
W^here death 's the prize of conquest, and defeat 
Seals its own safety, yet remains unblest ! 
But indignation at their fond deceit, 
And rage, the more inflames the tyrant's breast. 
The more this constant pair the palm of guilt contest. 



THE STORY OF JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 361 

He deems his power despised, and that in scorn 
Of him they spurn the punishment assigned : 
" Let," he exclaimed, " the fitting palm adorn 
The brows of both ! both pleas acceptance find ! " 
Beckoning he bids the prompt tormentors bind 
Their galling chains around the youth — 't is done ; 
Both to one stake are, back to back, consigned, 
Like sunflowers twisted from their worshipped sun, 
Compelled the last fond looks of sympathy to shun. 

Around them now the unctuous pyre was piled, 
And the fanned flame was rising in the wind, 
When, full of mournful thoughts, in accents wild, 
The lover to his mate in death repined : 
" Is this the bond, then, which 1 hoped should bind 
Our lives in blissful marriage ? this the fire 
Of bridal faith, commingling mind with mind, 
Which, I believed, should in our hearts inspire 
Like warmth of sacred zeal and delicate desire ? 

" Far other flames Love promised to impart, 
Than those our envious planets here prepare ; 
Too, ah too long they kept our hands apart, 
But harshly now they join them in despair ! 
Yet does it soothe, since by a mode so rare 
Condemned to die, thy torments to partake, 
Forbid by fate thy sweetnesses to share ; 
If tears I shed, 't is but for tliy dear sake, 
Not mine, — with thee beside, I bless the burning stake I 

" And oh ! this doom would be indeed most blest, 
My sharpest sufferings blandishments divine, 
Might I but be permitted, breast to breast. 
On thy sweet lips my spirit to resign ; 
If thou too, panting toward one common shrine, 
Wouldst the next happy instant parting spend 
Thy latest sighs in sympathy on mine ! " 
Sorrowing he spake ; she, when his plaints had end, 
Did thus his fond discourse most sweetly reprehend. 

" Far other aspirations, other plaints 
Than these, dear friend, the solemn hour should claim. 
Think what reward God offers to his saints ; 
Let meek repentance raise a loftier aim : 
These torturing fires, if suffered in his name, 
Will, bland as zephyrs, waft us to the blest; 
Regard the sun, how beautiful his flame! 
How fine a sky invites him to the west ! 
These seem to soothe our pangs, and summon us to rest." 



362 NATIONAL EPICS. 

The Pagans lifting up their voices, wept ; 
In stifled sorrow wept the Faithful too ; 
E'en the stern king was touched, — a softness crept 
O'er his fierce heart, ennobling, pure, and new; 
He felt, he scorned it, struggled to subdue, 
And lest his wavering firmness should relent, 
His eyes averted, and his steps withdrew : 
Sophronia's spirit only was unbent; 
She yet lamented not, for whom all else lament. 

In midst of their distress, a knight behold, 
(So would it seem) of princely port ! whose vest 
And arms of curious fashion, grained with gold, 
Bespeak some foreign and distinguished guest ; 
The silver tigress on the helm impressed. 
Which for a badge is borne, attracts all eyes, — 
A noted cognizance, th' accustomed crest 
Used by Clorinda, whence conjectures rise, 
Herself the stranger is, — nor false is their surmise. 

All feminine attractions, aims, and parts,^ 
She from her childhood cared not to assume ; 
Her haughty hand disdained all servile arts, 
The needle, distaff, and Arachne's loom ; 
Yet, though she left the gay and gilded room 
For the free camp, kept spotless as the light 
Her virgin fame, and proud of glory's plume, 
With pride her aspect armed , she took delight 
Stem to appear, and stern, she charmed the gazer's sight. 

Whilst yet a girl, she with her little hand 
Lashed and reined in the rapid steed she raced. 
Tossed the huge javelin, wrestled on the sand, 
And by gj'mnastic toils her sinews braced; 
Then through the devious wood and mountain-waste 
Tracked the struck lion to his entered den. 
Or in fierce wars a nobler quarry chased ; 
And thus in fighting field and forest glen, 
A man to savage beasts, a savage seemed to men. 

From Persia now she comes, with all her skill 
The Christians to resist, though oft has she 
Strewed with their blood the field, till scarce a rill 
Remained, that ran not purple to the sea. 
Here now arrived, the dreadful pageantry 
Of death presents itself, — the crowd — the pyre — 
And the bound pair ; solicitous to see. 
And know what crime condemns them to the fire, 
Forward she spurs her steed and hastens to inquire. 



THE STORY OF JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 363 

The throng falls back, and she awhile remains, 
The fettered pair more closely to survey ; 
One she sees silent, one she sees complains, 
The stronger spirit nerves the weaker prey : 
She sees him mourn like one whom the sad sway 
Of powerful pity doth to tears chastise, 
Not grief, or grief not for himself ; but aye 
Mute kneels the maid, her blue beseeching eyes 
So fixed on heaven, she seems in heaven ere yet she dies. 

Clorinda melts, and with them both condoles ; 
Some tears she sheds, but greater tenderness 
Feels for her grief who most her grief controls, — 
The silence moves her much, the weeping less ; 
No longer now does she delay to press 
For information ; turning towards one 
Of reverend years, she said with eagerness, 
"Who are they? speak! and oh, what crime has won 
This death ? in Mercy's name, declare the deed they've done ! " 

Thus she entreats ; a brief reply he gives, 
But such as well explains the whole event : 
Amazed she heard it, and as soon conceives 
That they are both sincerely innocent; 
Her heart is for them, she is wholly bent 
To avert their fate, if either arms can aid, 
Or earnest prayers secure the king's consent ; 
The fire she nears, commands it to be stayed, 
That now approached them fast, and to th' attendants said : 

" Let none of you presume to prosecute 
Your barbarous office, till the king I see; 
My word I pledge that at Clorinda's suit, 
Your fault he will forgive, if fault it be." 
Moved by her speech and queenlike dignity 
The guards obey, and she departs in quest 
Of the stem monarch, urgent of her plea : 
Midway they met ; the monarch she addressed 
And in this skilful mode her generous purpose pressed. 

" I am Clorinda : thou wilt know perchance 
The name, from vague remembrance or renown ; 
And here I come to save with sword and lance 
Our common Faith, and thy endangered crown, 
Impose the labor, lay th' adventure down, 
Sublime, I fear it not, nor low despise ; 
In open field or in the straitened town. 
Prepared I stand for every enterprise, 
Where'er the danger calls, where'er the labor lies ! " 



364 NATIONAL EPICS. 

" ' T would be assuredly a thing most rare, 
If the reward the service should precede; 
But of thy bounty confident, I dare 
For future toils solicit, as my meed, 
Yon lovers' pardon ; since the charge indeed 
Rests on no evidence, 't was hard to press 
The point at all, but this I waive, nor plead 
On those sure signs which, urged, thou must confess 
Their hands quite free from crime, or own their guilt far less. 

"Yet will I say, though here the common mind 
Condemns the Christians of the theft, for me, 
Sufficient reasons in mine o\vn I find 
To doubt, dispute, disparage the decree ; 
To set their idols in our sanctuary 
Was an irreverence to our laws, howe'er 
Urged by the sorcerer ; should the Prophet see 
E'en idols of our own established there? 
Much less then those of men whose lips his faith forswear : 

" The Christian statue ravished from your sight 
To Allah therefore rather I impute, 
In sign that he will let no foreign rite 
Of superstition his pure place pollute : 
Spells and enchantments may Ismeno suit, 
Leave him to use such weapons at his will ; 
But shall we warriors by a v/and dispute ? 
No ! no ! our talisman, our hope, our skill. 
Lie in our swords alone, and they shall serve us still ! " 

She ceased ; and he, though mercy could with pain 
Subdue a heart so full of rage and pride, 
Relents, her reasons move, her prayers constrain. — 
Such intercessor must not be denied ; 
Thus, though reluctant, he at length complied : 
" The plea for the fair pleader I receive ; 
I can refuse thee nothing ; this," he cried, 
" May justice be or mercy, —let them live ; 
GuUtless —I set them free, or guilty I forgive! " 

Restored to life and liberty, how blest, 
How truly blest was young Olindo's fate ! 
For sweet Sophronia's blushes might attest, 
That Love at length has touched her delicate 
And generous bosom ; from the stake in state 
They to the altar pass ; severely tried, 
In doom and love, already made his mate, 
She now objects not to become his bride. 
And grateful live with him who would for her have died. 

Wiffen's Translation, Canto II. 



PARADISE LOST. 



PARADISE LOST was written by John Milton, who was 
born in London, Dec. 9, 1608, and died Nov. 8, 1674. 
After leaving college, he spent five years in study at home, 
during which time he wrote L' Allegro, II Penseroso, Arcades, 
Comus, and Lycidas. In 1638 he travelled on the continent 
and in Italy, where he met Galileo. He hastened home 
in 1639 ^^^ account of the political disturbances in England, 
and espousing the Puritan cause, devoted the next twenty 
years of his life to the writing of pamphlets in its defence. 
In 1649 h^ was appointed Latin Secretary under Cromwell. 
In 1652 he lost his sight in consequence of overwork. 
At the age of twenty-nine, Milton had decided to make an 
epic poem his life work, and had noted many historical sub- 
jects. By 1 64 1 he had decided on a Biblical subject. He 
had probably conceived Paradise Lost at the age of thirty- 
two, although the poem was not composed until he was 
over fifty. It was written after his blindness and dictated in 
small portions to various persons, the work being collected 
and revised by Milton and Aubrey Phillips. It was com- 
pleted, according to the authority of Phillips, in 1663, but 
on account of the Plague and the Great Fire, it was not 
published until 1667. 

Paradise Lost is divided into twelve books and is written, 
to use Milton's own words, " In English heroic verse without 
rhyme, as that of Homer in Greek and of Virgil in Latin, 
rhyme being no necessary adjunct or true ornament of poem 
or good verse." 

Paradise Lost was neglected until the time of the Whig 
supremacy in England. In 1688 Lord Somers, the Whig 



366 NATIONAL EPICS. 

leader, published an edition de luxe of the poem ; Addison's 
papers on it, in 17 12, increased its popularity, and through 
the influence of the Whigs a bust of the poet was placed in 
Westminster Abbey in 1737. 

There is no better proof of the greatness of Paradise Lost 
than the way in which it has survived hostile criticism. It 
has been criticised for the lengthy conversations and '* argu- 
ments " of its characters ; for its materialization of the Divine 
Being; because of its subject; because of Milton's vague- 
ness of description of things awesome and terrible, in com- 
parison with Dante's minute descriptions. But the earnest 
spirit in which it was conceived and written ; the subject, 
giving it a *' higher argument" than any merely national 
epic, even though many of Milton's, and his age's, special 
beliefs are things of the past, and its lofty and poetical style, 
have rendered unassailable its rank among the noblest of the 
epics. 

Bibliography and Criticism, Paradise Lost. Joseph 
Addison's Notes upon the Twelve Books of Paradise Lost ; 
by Albert S. Cook, 1892. (In the Spectator from Dec. 31, 
1711-May 3, 17 12); Samuel Austin Allibone's Dictionary 
of Authors, 1891, vol. ii., pp. 130T-1311 ; Matthew Arnold's 
A French Critic on Milton (see his Mixed Essays, 1880, 
pp. 260-273) ; Walter Bagehot's Literary Studies, by Rich- 
ard Holt Hutton, 1879, vol. i., 202-219; Richard Bentley's 
Emendations on the Twelve Books of Paradise Lost, 1732 ; 
E. H. Bickersteth's Milton's Paradise Lost, 1876. (St. 
James Lectures, 2d series. Another edition, 1877); Hugh 
Blair's Paradise Lost (see his Lectures on Rhetoric and 
Belles Lettres, 1783, vol. ii., 471-476); Miss Christian 
Cann's A Scriptural and Allegorical Glossary to Paradise 
Lost, 1828 ; Charles Dexter Cleveland's Complete Concord- 
ance to Milton's Poetical Works, 1867 ; Samuel Taylor 
Coleridge's Lectures and Notes on Shakespeare and other 
English Poets collected by T.Ashe, 1893, pp. 518-529; 
William T. Dobson's The Classic Poets, their lives and 
times etc., 1879 ; Charles Eyre's Fall of Adam, from Mil- 



THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST. 367 

ton's Paradise Lost, 1852 ; George Gilfillan's Second Gallery 
of Literary Portraits, 1852, pp. 17-25 ; S. Humphreys Gur- 
teen's The Epic of the Fall of Man ; a comparative Study 
of Caedmon, Dante, and Milton, 1896 ; William Hazlitt On 
the Character of Milton's Eve (see his Round Table ed. by 
W. Carew HazHtt, 1889, pp. 150-158) ; William Hazlitt On 
Milton's Versification (see his Round Table, ed. by W. Carew 
Hazlitt, 1889, pp. 51-57) ; John A. Himes's Study of Mil- 
ton's Paradise Lost, 1878 ; Samuel Johnson's Milton (see 
his Lives of the Poets; ed. by Mrs. Alexander Napier, 
1890, vol. i.) ; Thomas Keightley's Introduction to Paradise 
Lost (see his An account of the Life, Opinions, and 
Writings of John Milton, 1855, pp. 397-484) ; Walter 
Savage Landor's Imaginary Conversations, Southey and 
Landor, 1853, vol. ii., 57-74, 156-159; Thomas Babington 
Macaulay's Milton (see his Critical and Historical Essays, 
ed. 10, i860, vol. i., pp. 1-6 1) ; WiUiam Massey's Remarks 
upon Milton's Paradise Lost, 1761 ; David Masson's In- 
troduction to Paradise Lost (see his edition of Milton's 
Poetical Works, 1893, vc)l. ii., pp. 1-57) ; David Masson's 
Life of Milton, 1880, vol. vi., 505-558, 621-636; David 
Masson's Three Devils (Luther's, Goethe's, and Milton's), 
(see his Three Devils and other Essays, 1874) ; James 
Peterson's A complete Commentary on Paradise Lost, 1744 ; 
Jonathan Richardson's Explanatory Notes and Remarks on 
Paradise Lost, 1734; Edmond Scherer's Milton and Para- 
dise Lost (see his essays on English Literature ; Tr. by 
George Saintsbury, 1891, pp. 134-149; John Robert See- 
ley's Milton (see his Roman Imperialism and other Lectures 
and Essays), 1871, pp. 142-152 ; First Edition of Paradise 
Lost, Book Lore, 1886, iii., 72-75 ; J. A. Himes's Cosmo- 
logy of Paradise Lost, Lutheran Quarterly, 1876, vi., 187-204 ; 
J. A. Himes's Plan of Paradise Lost, New Englander, 1883, 
xlii., 1 9 6-2 11; Satan of Milton and the Lucifer of Byron 
compared, Knickerbocker, 1847, ^xx., 150-155 ; Satan of 
Paradise Lost, Dublin University Magazine, 1876, Ixxxviii., 
707-714 ; Augustine Birrell's Obiter Dicta (2d series 1887, 
pp. 42-51) ; Isaac Disraeli's Curiosities of Literature, Bent- 



368 NATIONAL EPICS. 

ley's Milton, 1867, pp. 138-139 ; Henry Hallam's Literary 
History of Europe, 1873, ed. 5, vol. iii., pp. 475-483; 
Mark Pattison's John Milton, n. d. (English Men of Letters 
Series) ; H. A. Taine's History of English Literature ; Tr. 
by H. Van Laun, 1877, vol. ii., pp. 106-124. 



THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST. 369 



THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST. 

When that bright spirit, afterwards known as Satan, rose 
in rebellion against the Almighty Ruler of the Universe, 
presumptuously thinking himself equal to him in strength and 
following, he was overthrown by the Great Power and cast 
with his followers out of Heaven down to his future dwelling, 
flaming Hell. 

Nine days he and his horrid crew fell through Chaos into 
the flaming pit yawning to receive them, and there lay for 
nine days, — rendered stifl more miserable by the thought 
of their immortality and the eternal bhss they had forfeited. 
Then Satan, rousing himself from the stupor consequent 
upon the fall, half rose and addressed the next in power to 
himself, Beelzebub. 

" Thou art the same, yet not the same," said he ; ^^ changed, 
lost is some of thy former brightness. Yet why repine? 
While we live, while we have so large a following, all is not 
lost. Our hate still lives, and have we but strength enough, 
we may still revenge ourselves upon him who thrust us 
into this accursed place." 

Rising from the lake, his great shield slung over his 
shoulders, the unconquered archangel walked over the burn- 
ing marl to the beach of that fiery sea, and there with 
chiding words addressed the legions strewn around him. 
The great army rose hastily at the voice of its chief and 
passed before him, spirits whose heavenly names were now 
forever lost, who later became the gods of the idolaters. 
There was mighty Moloch, Chemos, those who later went 
by the general names of Baalim and Ashtaroth, — Thammuz, 
Dagon, Rimmon, Osiris, Isis, Orus and their train, Belial, 
and last of all, the Ionian gods. 

His despair in part dissipated by the sight of this heroic 
array, their prince, towering high above all, addressed them. 
No one had foreseen the calamity that had overtaken them. 
Who could have guessed the power of the Almighty? But 

24 



370 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



though overthrown they were not totally defeated. A rumor 
had long since been rife of the creation of another world 
with which they could interfere. At any rate, there must 
never be peace between them and the heavenly Powers. 
War there must be, war in secret, or war waged openly. As 
he ended, shield clashed against shield, and swords, quickly 
drawn, flashed before his eyes, and loud cries hurled defiance 
to Heaven. 

The legions, led by Mammon, who in Heaven had been 
an honored architect, sought a hill near by, and quickly 
emptying it of its rich store of gold and jewels, built a mas- 
sive structure. Like a temple in form was it, and round 
about it stood Doric columns overlaid with gold. No king 
of any future state could boast of a grander hall than this 
palace of Pandemonium which was so quickly reared upon a 
hill in Hell, and to which the heralds' trumpets now sum- 
moned all the host. 

On the massive throne, blazing with jewels, sat the fallen 
spirit, and thus addressed his followers : " Our success is 
sure in whatever we undertake. We shall never be riven 
with internecine warfare, for surely no one will quarrel over 
precedence in Hell. Therefore, united, we can, sure of our 
success, debate of the way in which we shall take up our 
warfare with the powers that have overthrown us." 

Moloch, Belial, Mammon, and Beelzebub spoke. Moloch 
was in favor of open war, since nothing could be worse than 
Hell, and continued assault against the Most High would, in 
annoying him, be a sweet revenge. Belial, who though 
timorous and slothful, was a persuasive orator, denounced 
Moloch's plan. Since the ruler of Heaven was all-powerful, 
and they immortal, no one knew to what greater misery he 
could push them ; perhaps he would bury them in boiling 
pitch to eternity, or inflict a thousand undreamed-of tortures. 
War, open and secret, he disliked, since it was impossible to 
conceal aught from the eye of the Most High. To make 
the best of Hell seemed all that was possible ; in time they 
might become inured to its flames and better days might 
come, if they but accepted their doom patiently. 



THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST. 371 

Mammon also considered war impossible. They could 
never hope to overcome the Almighty ; neither could they 
hope nor wish for a reconciliation, for how hateful would be 
an eternity spent in cringing to one whom they hated. The 
desert soil of Hell teemed with riches, they could find peace- 
ful pursuits, and it was his advice to continue there in quiet, 
untroubled by any thoughts of revenge. 

Amid the murmur of applause that followed Mammon's 
speech, Beelzebub, than whom none towered higher save 
Satan, arose, his face grave, his attitude majestic. " Would 
you, Thrones and Imperial Powers," he cried, " think to 
build up a kingdom here, secure from the arm of Heaven? 
Have you so soon forgotten that this is not a kingdom ceded 
to you by the Most High, but a dungeon in which he has 
shut you for your everlasting punishment? Never will he 
forget, that you are his prisoners ; your lot will not be peace, 
but custody and stripes. What return can we make, then, 
but to think out some slow but sure and sweet revenge ? It 
is not necessary to attempt to scale the walls of Heaven. 
Other things remain. There is this new world, his plaything. 
It may lie exposed, and we can at least make the attempt to 
seize it and lay it waste, and thus vex him." As he saw 
their eyes sparkle, he continued : " We may in this attempt 
come near to the steps of our old abode and breathe again 
its delicious airs instead of these hellish flames. But first 
we must find some one, strong, wary, and watchful, to send 
in search of it" 

Satan strode forth, his courage and his consciousness of it 
making his face shine with transcendent glory. " Long is 
the way and hard ; its dangers unknown and terrible, but I 
should be a poor sovereign did I hesitate in the attempt to 
seek it out. I do not refuse the sovereignty, for I fear not 
to accept as great a share of hazard as of honor. Stay here ; 
charm away your time, and I will seek deliverance abroad 
for all of us." 

As he spoke he rose to depart, fearful lest others might 
now offer to go and share the glory with him. 

The legions rose with a sound Hke thunder, bowed in 



372 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



deepest reverence and went forth, some, to explore their 
dismal abode, others to amuse themselves at games, others 
to discuss Free Will and Fate, while their leader pursued his 
way toward the gate of Hell. 

The nine-fold gates were of brass, iron, and adamantine 
rock, reaching high to the mighty roof, and most horrible 
were the Shapes that guarded it. 

On one side sat a creature, woman to the waist, below, a 
serpent, surrounded by a crew of hell hounds, forever bark- 
ing and then seeking refuge within her. On the other, a 
Shape, black, fierce, terrible, crowned with the likeness of a 
kingly crown, and shaking in its hands a dreadful dart. As 
he strode. Hell trembled. Satan, undaunted, met him with 
fierce words. As the two stood, their lances pointed at 
each other, the woman shrieked and ran between them. 

" Father, rush not upon tiiy son ! Son, raise not thy hand 
against thy father ! " She then explained that she was 
Satan's daughter, Sin, who had sprung from his head full 
grown, and tliat she later became by him the mother of the 
creature called Death who sat with her to guard the gates. 

Satan at once unfolded to them his plan of seeking the 
new world and making a happy home for both Sin and 
Death, where they could forever find food to gratify their 
hideous cravings. Charmed by his highly-colored pictures, 
and forgetful of the commands from above. Sin opened the 
mighty doors, so that the flames of Hell spread far out into 
Chaos, but her strength failed her when she attempted to 
close them again. 

For a moment Satan looked out into the mixture of Hot 
and Cold and Moist and Dry that formed Chaos, and then 
started forth, now rising, now falling, his wings heavy with 
the dense masses, now wading, now creeping, until at last 
he reached the spot where was fixed the throne of Chaos 
and of Night. Here Satan learned of the situation of the 
new world and soon caught a glimpse of it, hanging like a 
star, by a golden chain, from Heaven. 

Sitting in Heaven, high throned above all, God, all-seeing, 
all-knowing, was conscious of Satan's escape from Hell and 



THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST. 373 

his approach to the new world. To his Son, sitting on his 
right hand, he pointed out the fallen spirit. " No prescribed 
bounds can shut our Adversary in ; nor can the chains of 
hell hold him. To our new world he goes, and there, by no 
fault of mine, will pervert man, whom I have placed therein, 
with a free will; so to remain until he enthralls himself. 
Man will fall as did Satan, but as Satan was self-tempted, 
and man will be deceived by another, the latter shall find 
grace where his tempter did not." 

Great was the joy of the Son when he learned that man 
would receive mercy for his transgression. '' Pardon and 
mercy he shall receive," declared the Father, " but some one 
must be willing to expiate his sin for him; the just must die 
for the unjust. Who in Heaven is willing to make the 
sacrifice ? " 

For a moment all the Heavenly quire stood mute ; then 
the Son of God spoke and implored his Father to let his 
anger fall on him, since he could not wholly die, but could 
arise from death and subdue his vanquisher. 

When his Father accepted the sacrifice, and named him 
Son of God and Man who should hereafter be Universal 
King, Ruler of Heaven and Earth, Heaven rang with the 
shouts of the Angels, who, casting down their amaranthine 
wreaths until the golden pavement was covered with the 
garlands, took their golden harps and sang the praises of 
the Father and the Son. 

While they sang, Satan walked over the vast globe on 
which he had alighted, through what in after years, when 
the world was peopled, was to be the Paradise of Fools, the 
spot to which the spirits of all things transitory and vain, 
of those who had worked for their reward in life instead of 
in Heaven, would come. He walked around the dark globe 
until, directed by a gleam of light, he found the spot where 
a ladder led up to Heaven. Just below it, down through 
the spheres, was the seat of Paradise to which he was bend- 
ing his way. 

Down through the crystal spheres he bent his way toward 
the Sun, which attracted him by its superior splendor. Es- 



374 NATIONAL EPICS. 

pying Uriel, the Angel of the Sun, he quickly took the form 
of a youthful Cherub, and, approaching Uriel, told him that 
having heard of the new world he had been seized by a 
longing to quit the bands of Cherubim and see for himself 
the wonderful work of the Creator. 

Directed by the unsuspecting Uriel, Satan sped down- 
ward and standing upon the top of Niphates, surveyed 
Eden. 

As he looked, his spirit was troubled. He had brought 
Hell with him, and his unhappy thoughts boiled and surged 
in his troubled mind. " Sun, I hate thee, because thy 
beams recall to me what I was and how I fell. The match- 
less King of Heaven deserved no such return from me. 
His service was easy. Had I only been created a lower 
Power ! — But even then, might not some higher one have 
led me into temptation? What shall I do, whither shall I 
fly, to escape infinite wrath, and infinite despair? Hell is 
around me, I myself am Hell ! There is no hope for me. 
Submission is the only way left, and I could not unsay what 
I have said ; I could never bridge the gulf made by my 
revolt. Farewell to remorse ! Good is forever lost to me, 
and I must now make Evil my good. I can at least divide 
the empire of the world with the King of Heaven." 

As he realized how his bitter thoughts had dimmed his 
countenance he smoothed it over with outward calm, but 
not before Uriel, from the Sun, had noted and wondered 
over his strange gestures. 

Leaping over the high natural walls of Paradise, Satan, in 
the form of a cormorant, perched himself on the Tree of 
Life. Beautiful was the scene before him. All the trees 
and plants were of the noblest kind. In the midst of them 
stood the Tree of Life with its golden fruit, and not far off 
the Tree of Knowledge. Southward through Eden ran a 
river, which, passing under a huge hill, emerged into four 
great streams wandering through many afterwards famous 
realms. Between the rows of trees stretched level lawns 
where grazed the happy flocks, and over the green mead 
were sprinkled flowers of every hue. No fairer scene ever 



THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST. 375 

met living eyes, and fairest of all were the two stately forms, 
in whose looks shone the divinity of their Maker. Hand 
in hand they passed through the garden, refreshed them- 
selves with the delicious fruits, and were happy in each 
other. 

As he gazed on them while the animals fell asleep and 
the sun sank below the horizon, Satan, still torn with con- 
flicting emotions, ruminated over the unhappiness he was to 
bring the lovely pair. He admired them, he could love 
them ; they had not harmed him, but he must bring un- 
happiness upon them because of their likeness to their 
Creator. Through them only could he obtain his longed- 
for revenge. 

Anxious to learn where to attack them, he prowled about 
them, now as a lion, now as a tiger, listening to their con- 
versation. They spoke of their garden, of the Tree of Life, 
and of the forbidden Tree of Knowledge. '* In the day ye 
eat thereof, ye shall surely die," had been their warning. 
Eve recalled the day of her creation, when she had first 
fled from Adam, and then yielded to his embraces, and 
Satan, watching their caresses, envied and hardened his 
heart. " Live while ye may ! " he muttered. " Soon will I 
return and offer you new woes for your present pleasures." 

In the mean time, Gabriel, warned by Uriel, who sus- 
pected that an evil spirit had crept into Paradise, had set 
watches around the garden. Ithuriel and Zephon, sent to 
search for him, spied Satan in the form of a toad, sitting 
near the ear of Eve, tainting her dreams with foul whispers. 
Touched by Ithuriel's spear, he was forced to resume his 
own shape and was taken to Gabriel. The angry Satan 
attempted to use force, but warned by a sign from Heaven 
that his strength was insufficient, fled, murmuring, through 
the night. 

When morning dawned on Eden, a morn of unimaginable 
beauty, Adam waked Eve from her restless slumbers, and 
heard her troubled dreams, in which she had been tempted 
to taste of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. He com- 
forted her, and after their morning hymn, in which they 



376 NATIONAL EPICS. 

glorified their Creator, they set about their pleasant work 
of pruning the too luxuriant vines of their Paradise. In 
the mean time, the Father above, knowing the design of 
Satan, and determined that man should not fall without 
warning, sent Raphael down to Adam to tell him that he was 
threatened by an enemy, and that, as a free agent, if he fell, 
his sin would be upon his own head. 

Six-winged Raphael swept down through the spheres and 
stood in Paradise, welcomed by Adam. Eve hastened to 
set before their guest every delicacy that Eden knew, and 
while she was preparing these Adam listened to the Angel's 
warning. 

To emphasize the sin of disobedience, Raphael related 
to the pair the story of Satan's conspiracy with the other 
powers because the Father had proclaimed the power of 
his Son. The Father, knowing Satan's confidence in him- 
self, had allowed him for two days to fight an equal number 
of his legions of angels, among whom was Abdiel who had 
fled, indignant, from Satan's ranks, and on the third day, 
when the legions of evil lay crushed beneath the mountains 
which the shining angels had heaped upon them, the Son 
of God drove forth in his chariot, and single-handed, forced 
them before him, terror-stricken, until, Heaven's wall having 
opened, they fell downward for nine days, in horror and con- 
fusion into the depths of Hell. The Messiah, returning 
home in triumph in his chariot, was welcomed by the bright 
orders into the home of his Father. 

Delighted by the recital of Raphael, Adam asked him to 
relate the story of the Creation, and explain to him the 
motion of the celestial bodies. He then told Raphael of his 
own creation ; how he awoke as from a sleep and found the 
Sun above him and around him the pleasant groves of Para- 
dise ; how he named the animals as they passed before him, 
according to the will of God, and how he had pleaded with 
his Maker for a companion and equal, until the Creator, 
casting him into a sound sleep, took from his side a rib and 
formed from it his beauteous Eve. As Adam concluded, 
the setting sun warned Raphael to depart. 



THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST. 377 

Satan, after fleeing from Gabriel, had hidden in the dark 
parts of the earth, so that he could creep in at night unseen 
of Uriel. After the eighth night, he crept in past the watch- 
ful Cherubim, and stealing into Paradise, wrapped in the 
mist rising over the river that, shooting underground, rose 
up as a fountain near the Tree of Life, he crept, though 
not without loathing, into the serpent, in which form he 
could best evade the watchful eyes of the heavenly guards 
and accomplish his purpose. 

When morning dawned. Eve asked Adam for once to per- 
mit her to work alone, so that they might accomplish more. 
Adam, who constantly desired her presence, prayed her to 
remain, warning her of the enemy of whom Raphael had 
spoken, and telling her that they could resist temptation 
more easily together than when separated. But Eve was 
obdurate, and Adam finally consented that she should go 
alone to work. 

As she moved among the groves, tying up the drooping 
flowers, Hke to Pomona in her prime, or to Ceres, the sight 
of so much beauty, goodness, and innocence moved even 
the serpent, as he approached, intent on the destruction of 
her happiness. But as he looked, the thought of her joy but 
tortured him the more, since happiness was no longer pos- 
sible for him. 

This was before the serpent had been compelled to crawl 
his whole length on the ground, and as he moved on, fold on 
fold, his head proudly reared, his scales brilliant in color, he 
was not an unpleasant object to look upon. He circled about 
Eve as though lost in admiration, until her attention was at- 
tracted, and then astounded her by addressing her in her 
own language. When she demanded by what means he had 
acquired speech, he told her by the plucking and eating of a 
certain tree in the garden, which he had no sooner tasted 
than he felt his inw^ard powers to develop until he found him- 
self capable of speech. 

Eve at once asked him to take her to the tree, but when 
she recognized the forbidden Tree of Knowledge, she de- 
murred, assuring the serpent that God had commanded 



378 NATIONAL EPICS. 

them not to touch it, for if they ate of it, they should 
surely die. " Am I not alive ? " asked her tempter, " and 
have I not eaten of it? Is it not a rank injustice that you 
should be forbidden to taste it and to lack the Knowledge 
of Good and Evil which it would give you ? Where can 
the offence lie? It must be envy that causes such a 
prohibition." 

His words, the sight of the fruit, and natural hunger all 
prevailed on Eve, and she plucked a branch from the tree 
and tasted the fruit. As she ate she saw Adam coming in 
search of her, holding a garland which he had been binding 
to crown her. To his reproaches, she rephed with the argu- 
ments of her tempter, until Adam, in despair, determined to 
taste the apple that he might not lose Eve. Paradise without 
her would not be Paradise, and no new wife could make 
him forget her. 

After the first exhilaration of the food was past they began 
to reproach each other, mindful of their destiny, of which 
they had been warned by Raphael, and, engaged in this fruit- 
less chiding, they were found by the Son, who, informed of 
their transgression by the angels, sought them out in their 
place of concealment. Adam and Eve he sentenced to a 
life of sorrow and labor, the serpent to go despised and ever 
at enmity with man. Then, pitying the unhappy pair, he 
clad them in skins and re-ascended to Heaven. 

While this was occurring in Eden, Sin and Death, feeling 
in some mysterious way the success of their parent, deter- 
mined to leave Hell and seek their new home. Passing 
through Chaos, they pushed the heavy elements this way and 
that, cementing them with Death's mace until they con- 
structed of them a bridge from the gates of Hell to the 
point on earth at which Satan had first alighted, and here 
met him, just returning, flushed with success, to Hell. 

All the followers of Satan were gathered in Pandemonium 
to hear the news of his success, which he related, overjoyed 
at having wrought the ruin of mankind and revenged him- 
self on God by so small a thing as the eating of an apple. 
As he concluded and stood waiting their applause, he heard 



THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST. 



379 



a universal hiss, and saw himself surrounded by serpents, and 
himself changing into an enormous dragon. The great hall 
was filled with the monsters, scorpions, asps, hydras, and 
those who stood waiting without with applause for their 
leader were likewise changed into loathsome reptiles. With- 
out the hall a grove sprang up, loaded with tempting fruit, 
but when, tortured with thirst, they tried to eat, it turned in 
their mouths to bitter ashes. After a time they were per- 
mitted to take again their own shapes, but were compelled 
to resume this serpent-form for a certain number of days 
each year, to crush their pride. 

When God saw the entrance of Sin and Death into the 
world, he proclaimed to his Saints that their seeming victory 
was but temporary, and that eventually his Son would defeat 
Sin, Death, and the Grave, and seal up the mouth of Hell. 
Then, as the Halleluias rang out, he ordered the angels to 
make certain changes in the universe as a punishment to 
man. The Sun was so to move as to affect the earth alter- 
nately with a cold and heat almost unbearable ; to the Moon 
were assigned her motions ; the other planets were to join in 
various ways, often " unbenign." The winds were assigned 
their stations to torment the earth and sea, and the thunder 
was set to strike terror to the heart of man. The poles of 
the earth were pushed aslant, and soon the effects of the 
changes were felt in heat, cold, wind, and storm. 

Adam, though absorbed in his own misery and momen- 
tarily expecting Death, saw the changes, and' bemoaned his 
woes the more. How would his mysterious progeny despise 
him, since he was the cause of their being brought into the 
world of woe ! When Eve attempted to comfort him he 
drove her from him with harsh words, saying that in time 
to come women would be the unhappy cause of all man's 
misery, as she had been of his. At last, seeing the futility 
of his outcries Adam began to cheer his wife, recalling the 
promise that their offspring should crush the head of the 
serpent, and suggested to her that they go to their former 
place of prayer and pour forth to God their true contrition 
and repentance. 



380 NATIONAL EPICS. 

The glad Son, presenting these prayers at his Father's 
throne, interceded with him for them, since their contrition 
now was worth more than their worship in a state of inno- 
cence. His intercession was accepted, but since they had 
lost the two gifts of Happiness and ImmortaUty, they must 
leave the garden lest they be tempted to taste next of the 
Tree of Life and make their woe eternal. 

Michael was sent down to drive them from the garden, 
and if the pair seemed repentant and disconsolate he was 
ordered to comfort them with the promise of better days and 
to reveal to them somewhat of the future. In habit as a 
man Michael descended and declared to Adam and Eve 
that they could no longer abide in Paradise. When Adam, 
himself broken with grief, attempted to console the heart- 
broken Eve, the Angel comforted her also, and causing a 
sleep to fall upon her, led Adam to a hill-top, whence could 
be seen the hemisphere of the earth, soon to be covered by 
the seats of empires. 

Touching Adam's eyes with three drops from the well of 
life, the Angel showed him a long panorama, beginning with 
the crime of Cain, and showing the building of the Ark and 
its landing on Ararat. When he perceived that Adam's 
eyes were weary, he recited to him the story of Abraham, of 
the deliverance from Egypt, the wandering in the Wilder- 
ness, of the royal stock of David from which would spring 
the seed so often promised Adam, who should ascend the 
hereditary throne, and whose glory should be universal. 

Overjoyed, Adam inquired when would take place the 
final death stroke to Satan, the bruising with the Victor's 
heel. Michael responded that Satan was not to be de- 
stroyed, but his works in Adam and his seed, and that 
the sacrifice of the Son's life for man would forever crush 
the strength of Satan's progeny. Sin and Death. Then, to 
that Heaven to which he would reascend, the faithful would 
go when the time came for the world's dissolution, and there 
would be received into the bliss eternal. 

Strengthened and sustained, Adam went down from the 
mount and met Eve, just awaking from comforting dreams. 



THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST 381 

The Cherubim descended, and, urged by the Angel, the two 
took their way into the wide world that lay before them, and 
looking back beheld the flaming swords of the Cherubim at 
the gates of their lost Paradise. 



SELECTIONS FROM PARADISE LOST. 

Satan. 

After having been thrown out of Heaven with his crew, 
Satan lay nine days in the burning lake into which he fell. 
Then, rousing himself, he rose from the Hquid flames, flew 
over the lake, and alighting upon the solid though burning 
land, thus addressed Beelzebub, who had accompanied him. 

" Is this the region, this the soil, the clime," 
Said then the lost Archangel, •' this the seat 
That we must change for Heaven ? — this mournful gloom 
For that celestial light ? Be it so, since He 
Who now is sovran can dispose and bid 
What shall be right : farthest from Him is best, 
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme 
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields, 
Where joy forever dwells ! Hail, horrors ! hail. 
Infernal World ! and thou, profoundest Hell, 
Receive thy new possessor — one who brings 
A mind not to be changed by place or time. 
The mind is its own place, and in itself 
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. 
What matter where, if I be still the same. 
And what I should be, all but less than he 
Whom thunder hath made greater ? Here at least 
We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built 
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence : 
Here we may reign secure ; and, in my choice. 
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell: 
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven. 
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, 
The associates and co-partners of our loss, 
Lie thus astonished on the oblivious pool, 
And call them not to share with us their part 
In this unhappy mansion, or once more 
With rallied arms to try what may be yet 
Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell? " 

So Satan spake ; and him Beelzebub 



382 NATIONAL EPICS, 

Thus answered : — " Leader of those armies bright 
Which, but the Omnipotent, none could have foiled I 
If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge 
Of hope in fears and dangers — heard so oft 
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge 
Of battle, when it raged, in all assaults 
Their surest signal — they will soon resume 
New courage and revive, though now they lie 
Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire, 
As we erewhile, astounded and amazed ; 
No wonder, fallen from such pernicious highth ! " 
He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend 
Was moving toward the shore ; his ponderous shield, 
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, 
Behind him cast. The broad circumference 
Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb 
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views 
At evening, from the top of Fesole, 
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 
Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. 
His spear — to equal which the tallest pine 
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast 
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand — 
He walked with, to support uneasy steps 
Over the burning marie, not like those steps 
On Heaven's azure; and the torrid clime 
Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire. 
Nathless he so endured, till on the beach 
Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called 
His legions — Angel Forms, who lay entranced 
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks 
In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades 
High over-arched embower ; or scattered sedge 
Afloat, when the fierce winds Orion armed 
Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew 
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry. 
While with perfidious hatred they pursued 
The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld 
From the safe shore their floating carcases 
And broken chariot wheels. So thick bestrown, 
Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood, 
Under amazement of their hideous change. 
He called so loud that all the hollow deep 
Of Hell resounded: — " Princes, Potentates, 
Warriors, the Flower of Heaven — once yours ; now lost, 
If such astonishment as this can seize 
Eternal Spirits ! Or have ye chosen this place 
After the toil of battle to repose 
Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 
To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven ? 



THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST. 383 

Or in this abject posture have ye sworn 
To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds 
Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood 
With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon 
His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern 
The advantage, and descending, tread us down 
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf ? — 
Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen ! " 

Book /., 240-330. 



Apostrophe to Light. 

This passage forms the beginning of Book III., in which the 
poet visits the realms of light after having described Hell and 
its inhabitants. 

Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born ! 
Or of the Eternal coeternal beam 
May I express thee unblamed? since God is light, 
And never but in unapproached light 
Dwelt from eternity — dwelt then in thee. 
Bright effluence of bright essence increate ! 
Or hear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream. 
Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the Sun, 
Before the Heavens, thou wert, and at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 
The rising World of waters dark and deep. 
Won from the void and formless Infinite ! 
Thee 1 revisit now with bolder wing, 
Escaped the Stygian Pool, though long detained 
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight, 
Through utter and through middle Darkness borne, 
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre 
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night, 
Taught by the Heavenly Muse to venture down 
The dark descent, and up to re-ascend. 
Though hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe. 
And feel thy sovran vital lamp ; but thou 
Revisit' st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, 
Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more 
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt 
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 
Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief 
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 



384 NATIONAL EPICS. 

That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, 

Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 

Those other two equalled with me in fate, 

So were I equalled with them in renown, 

Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides, 

And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old: 

Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move 

Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird 

Sings darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid, 

Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 

Seasons return ; but not to me returns 

Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, 

Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 

Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; 

But cloud instead and ever-during dark 

Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 

Cut off, and, for the book of knowledge fair, 

Presented with a universal blank 

Of Nature's works, to me expunged and rased, 

And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 

So much the rather thou, Celestial Light, 

Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 

Irradiate ; there plant eyes ; all mist from thence 

Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 

Of things invisible to mortal sight. 

Book III., 1-5 5 • 



PARADISE REGAINED. 

" A cold and noble epic." — Taine. 

PARADISE REGAINED was written by Milton, judg- 
ing from a passage in tiie Autobiography of Tliomas 
Ellwood, in the winter of 1665-6, but was not pubHshed 
until 1 67 1. It was printed at Milton's expense in a small 
volume together with Samson Agonistes. 

Paradise Regained tells the story of Christ's temptation 
in the Wilderness, and the material was taken from the 
accounts of Matthew and Luke, which the poet, with great 
skill, expanded without essentially deviating from them. 

The title has been criticised on the ground that the poem 
should have extended over the whole of Christ's life on 
earth. But Paradise Regained was written as a sequel to 
Paradise Lost, and, as in the first poem the poet showed 
that Paradise was lost by the yielding of Adam and Eve to 
Satan, so in the second, he wished to show that Paradise 
was regained by the resistance of Christ to temptation, 
Satan's defeat signifying the regaining of Paradise for men 
by giving them the hope of Christ's second coming. There- 
fore the poem naturally ends with Satan's rebuff and his final 
abandonment of the attempt on the pinnacle of the Temple. 

The poem has been criticised for its shortness, some 
scholars even affecting to believe it unfinished ; its lack of 
variety, in that it has but two characters, its lack of action, 
and the absence of figurative language. 

But with all these faults, it has a charm of its own, entirely 
different from that of Paradise Lost. Satan has degenerated 
during his years of " roaming up and down the earth ; " he 
is no longer the fallen angel of Paradise Lost, who struggled 
with himself before making evil his good. He is openly 

25 



386 NATIONAL EPICS. 

given over to evil practices, and makes little effort to play 
the hypocrite. His temptations are worked up from that 
of hunger to that of the vision of the kingdoms of the earth 
with a wonderful power of description which makes up for 
the lack of action and the few actors. The pathless, rock- 
bound desert, the old man, poorly clad, who accosts the 
Christ, the mountain-top from which all the earth was visible, 
the night of horror in the desert, and the sublime figure of 
the Savior, are all enduring pictures which compensate for 
any rigidity of treatment. If figurative language is omitted 
it is because the theme does not need it, and does not show 
that the poem is less carefully finished than Paradise Lost. 
Its lack of action and similarity of subject to the longer 
poem sufficiently account for its not meeting with popular 
favor. Johnson was correct when he said, " had this poem 
been written not by Milton, but by some imitator, it would 
have claimed and received universal praise." 

Bibliography and Criticism, Paradise Regained. H. 
C. Beeching, On the Prosody of Paradise Regained and 
Samson Agonistes, 1889 ; Charles Dexter Cleveland's Com- 
plete Concordance to Milton's Poetical Works, 1867 ; Wil- 
liam T. Dobson's The Classic Poets, their Lives and Times 
etc., 1879; George Gilfillan's Second Gallery of Literary 
Portraits, 1852, pp. 15-16; Samuel Johnson's Milton (see 
his Lives of the Poets ; ed. by Mrs. Alexander Napier, 1890, 
vol. i.) ; Thomas Babington Macaulay's Milton (see his 
Critical and Historical Essays, ed. 10, i860, vol. i.) ; David 
Masson's Introduction to Paradise Regained (see his ed. 
of Milton's Poetical works, 1893, vol. iii., pp. 1-14; David 
Masson's Life of Milton, 1880, vol. vi., 651-661 ; Richard 
Meadowcourt's Critique on Milton's Paradise Regained, 
1732; A Critical Dissertation on Paradise Regained with 
Notes, 2d ed. 1748 ; John Robert Seeley's Milton (see his 
Roman Imperialism and other Lectures and Essays, 18 71, 
pp. 152-157) ; Mark Pattison's John Milton (English Men 
of Letters Series), n. d. ; H. A. Taine's History of English 
Literature, Tr. by H. Van Laun, 1877, vol. ii. 



THE STORY OF PARADISE REGAINED, 387 



THE STORY OF PARADISE REGAINED. 

After the expulsion from Paradise of Adam and Eve, 
Satan and his followers did not return to Hell, but remained 
on earth, the fallen angels becoming the evil gods of various 
idolatrous nations and Satan engaging in every kind of evil- 
doing which he knew would vex the Powers of Heaven. 
All the time he was troubled by the thought of the heavenly 
foe who he had been told would one day appear on earth 
to crush him and his rebel angels. 

Now John had come out of the wilderness, proclaiming 
his mission, and among those who came to him to be bap- 
tized was one who was deemed the son of Joseph of Naza- 
reth. John recognized in the obscure carpenter's son the 
one " mightier than he " whose coming he was to proclaim, 
and this fact was further made clear to the multitude and 
the observant Satan by the opening of the Heavens and 
the descent therefrom on Christ's head of the Dove, while 
a voice was heard declaring, " This is my beloved Son." 

Satan, enraged, fled to the council of the fiends to an- 
nounce to them the presence on earth of their long-dreaded 
enemy. He was empowered by them to attempt his over- 
throw, and they were the more confident because of his 
success with Adam and Eve. 

Satan's purpose was known to the Eternal Father, who 
smiled to see him unwittingly fulfilling the plan so long 
foreordained for his destruction. 

After his baptism, the Father had sent his Son into the 
wilderness to gain strength for his struggle with Sin and 
Death, and there Satan, in the guise of an old, poorly clad 
rustic, found him. Although the Son of God had wandered 
through the rock-bound, pathless desert, among wild beasts, 
without food for forty days, he had no fear, believing that 
some impulse from above had guided him thither before he 
should go out among men to do his divinely appointed task. 



388 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



Then, when hunger came upon him as he wandered, 
thinking of past events and those to come, he met the aged 
man and was addressed by him. 

" Sir, how came you hither, where none who ventures 
alone escapes ahve ? I ask because you look not unlike the 
man I lately saw baptized by John and declared the Son of 
God." 

" I need no guide," replied the Son. " The Power who 
brought me here will bring me forth." 

*' Not otherwise than by miracle. Here we subsist only 
upon dry roots and must often endure parching thirst. If 
thou art indeed the Son of God, save thyself and relieve us 
wretched people by changing these stones to bread." 

" Men live not by bread alone," replied the Son, "but by 
the word of God. Moses in the Mount was without food 
and drink for forty days. Elijah also wandered fasting in 
the wilderness. Thou knowest who I am as I know who 
thou art; why shouldest thou suggest distrust to me?" 

" 'T is true that I am that unfortunate spirit who fell from 
Heaven, but I have been permitted to roam around the 
earth and have not been altogether excluded from Heaven. 
God allowed me to test Job and prove his worth and to 
draw Ahab into fraud. Though I have lost much of my 
original brightness I can still admire all that is illustrious and 
good. The sons of men should not regard me as an enemy, 
for I have oft given them aid by oracles, dreams, and portents. 
My loss was not through them, so their restoration does not 
grieve me ; only that fallen man will be restored and not I." 

"Thou deservest to grieve, tissue of lies that thou art!" 
exclaimed our Savior. "Thou boastest of being released 
from Hell and permitted to come into Heaven. No joy 
hast thou there ! Thy own malice moved thee to torture 
Job. Brag not of thy Hes, thy oracles for men. Henceforth 
oracles are dumb, since God has sent his living oracle into 
the world to teach the truth." 

Satan, though angry, still dissembled. 

" Accuse me, reprove me, if thou wilt. Fallen as I am, I 
still love to hear the truth fall from thy lips." 



THE STORY OF PARADISE REGAINED. 389 

Unmoved by his false words the Savior of men declared 
that he neither forbade nor invited his presence, and Satan, 
bowing low, disappeared as night fell over the desert. 

In the mean time, those at Bethabara who had rejoiced at 
the declaration of John and had talked with the Messiah, 
were deeply grieved to find him gone and with him their 
hope of deliverance. His mother, too, was troubled at his 
absence, but comforted herself with the thought of his 
former absences, afterwards explained. 

Satan, hastening from the desert, sought his troop of evil 
spirits to warn them that his undertaking was no easy one, 
and to summon them to his assistance. 

Night fell on the Son of God, still fasting, wondering 
what would be the end. In sleep he was visited by dreams 
of Elijah, raven-fed, and of the same prophet fed by the 
angel in the desert, and as he dreamed that he ate with 
them, the lark's song awoke him and he wandered into a 
pleasant grove. As he viewed it, charmed by its beauty, a 
man appeared before him, no rustic this time, but one 
attired in the apparel of city or court. 

" I have returned, wondering that thou still remainest 
here, hungering. Hagar once wandered here ; the children 
of Israel, and the Prophet, but all these were fed by the 
hand of Heaven. Thou alone art forgotten and goest tor- 
mented by hunger." 

Though the Son of God declared that he had no need to 
eat, Satan invited his attention to a table, set under a spread- 
ing tree. Upon it was heaped every known delicacy ; by it 
waited youths handsome as Ganymede, and among the trees 
tripped naiads and nymphs of Diana, with fruits and flowers. 
Exquisite music was heard, and the perfumes of Araby filled 
the air. 

" Why not sit and eat?" continued Satan. " These foods 
are not forbidden, and all these gentle ministers are ready to 
do thee homage." 

"What hast thou to do with my hunger?" demanded 
Jesus. " Should I receive as a gift from thee what I myself 
could command if I so desired? I too could bring a table 



390 NATIONAL EPICS. 

here, and swift- winged angels to attend me. Thy gifts are 
but guiles." 

"I am forever suspected," responded Satan, as the table 
vanished. " Hunger cannot move thee, set on high de- 
signs. But what canst thou, a lowly carpenter's son, accom- 
plish without aid? Where wilt thou find authority, where 
followers ? First get riches ; hearken to me, for fortune is in 
my hand. Wealth will win, while virtue, valor, and wisdom 
sit and wait in vain." 

" Yet what can wealth do without these ? " replied Jesus 
patiently. " How can it gain dominion, and keep it when 
gained? Gideon, Jephtha, David, and among the heathen 
(for I am not ignorant of history) Quinctius, Fabricius, 
Curius, Regulus, ah these have risen from the depths and 
achieved the highest deeds. Then, why may not I accom- 
plish as much, even more, without wealth, which but cumbers 
the wise man, and slackens virtue, rather than prompts it to 
worthy deeds ? Suppose I reject both riches and realms ? 
Not because the regal diadem is a wreath of thorns and he 
who wears it bears each man's burden, for the king's chief 
praise is the manner in which he bears this burden for the 
public. But he who rules himself is greater than a king, and 
he who cannot do this should not aspire to royal power. 
But it is surely more kingly to lead nations Winded by error 
into the hght of God's truth. This dominion is over the 
nobler part of man. And it has ever been thought greater 
and nobler to give a kingdom and to lay down authority than 
to assume it. Therefore thy riches are needless both in 
themselves, and to gain a kingdom which would better be 
missed than gained." 

Satan, though for a moment struck dumb by this answer 
to his arguments, soon collected himself and suggested that 
while the Savior knew so well what was best to know, say, 
and do, that if known he would be regarded as an oracle, 
still he did wrong to despise glory and deprive earth of his 
great deeds, citing as examples of more active spirits accom- 
phshing much when younger than he, the young Alexander, 
Scipio, Pompey, and Caesar. But the Savior replied that the 



THE STORY OF PARADISE REGAINED. 



391 



glory which consisted of the approval of the rabble was only 
to be despised. The true glory was that of the man who 
dared to be truly good, who though little known on earth, 
was famous in Heaven. Such men did not lay waste fields, 
sack, pillage, and slay, but by deeds of peace won the 
approval of the Father. Such was Job, oft tempted by 
Satan; such was Socrates, who suffered unjust death for 
teaching truth. And the Son of God had come upon earth 
not to win glory for himself as vain men do, but for Him 
who sent him. 

"Thy Father does not despise glory," sneered Satan. 
" He demands it from his angels, from men, even from us, 
his foes." 

"With reason," answered the Son, "since he created all 
things, though not for glory. And what slighter recompense 
could he expect from men who could return nothing else?" 

Satan, remembering his own ambition and his fall, was 
silent for a moment, and then spoke to remind the Savior 
that he was born to the throne of David, but that it must be 
wrested from the Roman by force of arms. It was his duty 
to do this and save his people from oppression. 

"All things in due time," replied the Savior. "If the 
Writ tells of my sufferings, my tribulations, of violence done 
unto me, it also tells of my reign without end. I can wait. 
He who suffers best, can do best ; he who obeys first, reigns 
best ; and why shouldest thou be so anxious to hasten my 
rule when it means thy destruction?" 

"When hope is gone, what is there left to fear? My 
punishment will come whether thou reign or no. I could 
hope that thy reign would stand between me and the anger 
of thy Father. And if I haste to the worst that can be, why 
shouldest thou go so slowly to the best? Perhaps thou 
fearest the dangerous enterprise, thou who, pent up in Gali- 
lean towns, hast seen so little." 

So saying, he took the Son up into a high mountain at 
the foot of which stretched a vast plain. Two rivers watered 
the fertile land. The hills were covered with flocks ; vast 
cities could be seen, and here and there, so wide was the 



392 NATIONAL EPICS. 

land, a barren desert. Then the Tempter pointed out the 
vast cities of Assyria, Nineveh, Babylon, Persepolis, Bactra, 
and the vast host of the Parthian king, even then marching 
against the Scythians. As they watched the great host of 
mailed warriors, accompanied by chariots, elephants, archers, 
engineers, Satan pursued his argument. Suppose the Son 
should take possession of his kingdom ; how should he hope 
to keep it in peace between two such powerful enemies as 
the Parthians and the Romans ? It would be better to con- 
quer first the nearest, the Parthians, and this could be done 
with Satan's help. In doing this he would not only be able 
to occupy his throne but would dehver the offspring of the 
Ten Tribes of Israel, who, scattered among the Medes, still 
served as slaves. 

But the Savior, in response, only questioned Satan as to 
why he had suddenly become so soHcitous for the salvation 
of the Tribes when he himself had once tempted David to 
number Israel and had thus brought pestilence upon them. 
And as to the Ten Tribes, they had brought their punish- 
ment upon themselves, and must serve the enemy and their 
idols until the Father should see fit to release them. 

Though embarrassed by the failure of his wiles, Satan 
could not yet yield. Turning to the western side of the 
mountain, he pointed out to the Savior a long, narrow plain, 
bordered on the south by the sea and protected from north- 
ern blasts by a mountain range. There, crowning the seven 
hills stood the imperial city adorned with porches, theatres, 
baths, aqueducts, and palaces. Satan pointed out the differ- 
ent objects of interest in splendid Rome, the Capitol, Mt. 
Palatine, crowned by the imperial palace, and the great 
gates, through which issued or entered a continuous stream 
of praetors, proconsuls, Hctors, legions, embassies, on all 
the roads which led through the far-stretching empire, even 
to those of the Asian kings, and remote Britain. All the 
glory of the world, he argued, lay in Parthia and Rome, and 
Rome was greater. He who ruled her was indeed ruler 
of the world, and yet its present emperor was old, weak, 
lascivious, without heir, and lived at Capreag, his public cares 



THE STORY OF PARADISE REGAINED. 393 

entrusted to his favorite. How easily could the Son of 
God force from him the power and lift the yoke from his 
people ! 

But the splendor of the scene allured neither the eye nor 
the mind of the Son. The gluttonies, the gorgeous feasts, 
the hollow compliments and Ues of the people did not 
attract him. His mission, he told his Tempter, was not yet 
to free that people, once just and frugal, now debased by 
their insatiable ambition. When the time came for him to 
sit on David's throne, this with all other kingdoms of the 
earth would be shattered while his kingdom would be 
eternal. 

"Though thou despisest my offers," cried Satan, "thou 
knowest that I esteem them highly, and will not part with 
them for nought. This is the condition ; Wilt thou fall 
down and worship me as thy superior lord? " 

" It is written, thou accursed one," responded the Savior 
in disdain, " that thou shouldst worship and serve the Lord 
thy God alone. Who gave thee the kingdoms of the earth if 
He did not ? And what gratitude thou showest ! Get thee 
behind me ! Truly thou art Satan ! " 

Satan, abashed but not silenced, pointed southwest toward 
Athens. Since the Savior seemed to prefer a contemplative 
life, why should he not seek that seat of learning? All 
wisdom was not contained in Moses' law and the writings 
of the prophets. Let him master the learning of the great 
Athenian teachers, philosophers and orators, and he would 
be a king within himself. 

But the Savior assured Satan that, having received light 
from above, he knew how false and fallacious were the 
boasted philosophies of the Greeks. Their philosophers, 
ignorant of themselves and of God, and arrogating all glory 
to themselves and ascribing none to Him, were unable to im- 
part wisdom to any one. From Hebrew psalm and hymn, and 
captive harps in Babylon, the Greeks derived their arts, and 
the results, the odious praises of their vicious gods, could not 
compare with the songs of Sion in praise of the Father. 
Their orators, too, were far below the Hebrew prophets. 



394 



NATIONAL EPICS. 



"Stay in the wilderness, then," thundered Satan, wroth 
at this failure. " Since neither riches nor arms, nor power, 
nor yet the contemplative life please thee, it is for thee the 
fittest place ! But the time will yet come when violence, 
stripes, and a cruel death will make thee long for me and 
my proffered power. Truly the stars promise thee a king- 
dom, but of what kind and when I cannot read." 

As he disappeared, darkness fell, and the Son of God, 
still hungry and cold, sought rest under a sheltering tree. 
But Satan watched near, and forbade rest. Thunder and 
lightning shook the Heavens ; rain drenched the earth ; the 
fury of the winds was loosed, and in their path the sturdiest 
trees were uprooted. Ghosts, furies, raved around the holy 
one, but, unshaken by fear, he endured all calmly, and came 
forth, as the bright sun shone upon the earth, to meet again 
the Prince of Darkness. 

Enraged that the terrors of the night had had no effect 
upon his enemy, Satan cried out that he still doubted 
that the wanderer in the wilderness was the Son of God in 
the true sense, and would therefore try him another way. 

So speaking, he caught him up and bore him through the 
air unto Jerusalem, and setting him on the highest pinnacle 
of the glorious Temple, said scornfully : — 

" Stand there, if thou canst ; I have placed thee highest 
in thy Father's house. Now show if thou art indeed the 
Son of God. Cast thyself down, for it is written that He 
will command his angels concerning thee, so that they in 
their hands shall uplift thee." 

"It is also written," said Jesus, "'Tempt not the Lord 
thy God.' " And as he so spoke and stood, Satan, overcome 
with amazement, fell whence he had expected to see his 
conqueror fall, and, struck with dread and anguish at his cer- 
tain defeat, fled to his rebel angels. 

Straightway, a " fiery globe " of angels received the Son 
on their pinions, bore him from the pinnacle into a flowery 
vale, and there refreshed him with ambrosial food and water 
from the Fount of Life, while all around him the angelic 
choir sang his praises for the conquest of his enemy, and 



THE STORY OF PARADISE REGAINED. 



395 



encouraged him to go forth on his work of saving mankind. 
Thence, rested and refreshed, he arose, and went, unobserved, 
home to his mother's house. 



SELECTION FROM PARADISE REGAINED. 

The Temptation of the Vision of the Kingdoms of 
THE Earth. 

Satan, meeting the Savior in the wilderness, tempted him 
to change the stones to bread, and then, after endeavoring to 
awake in him a longing for wealth and power, appealed to his 
ambition by leading him to a mountain top, and displaying to 
him the kingdoms of the earth. -> 

With that (such power was given him then), he [Satan] took 

The Son of God up to a mountain high. 

It was a mountain at whose verdant feet 

A spacious plain outstretched in circuit wide 

Lay pleasant ; from his side two rivers flowed, 

The one winding, the other straight, and left between 

Fair champaign, with less rivers intervened, 

Then meeting joined their tribute to the sea. 

Fertile of corn the glebe, of oil, and wine ; 

With herds the pasture thronged, with flocks the hills ; 

Huge cities and high-towered, that well might seem 

The seats of mightiest monarchs ; and so large 

The prospect was that here and there was room 

For barren desert, fountainless and dry. 

To this high mountain-top the Tempter brought 

Our Saviour, and new train of words began : — 

" Well have we speeded, and o'er hill and dale, 
Forest, and field, and flood, temples and towers. 
Cut shorter many a league. Here thou behold'st 
Assyria, and her empire's ancient bounds, 
Araxes and the Caspian lake ; thence on 
As far as Indus east, Euphrates west, 
And oft beyond; to south the Persian bay, 
And, inaccessible, the Arabian drouth : 
Here, Nineveh, of length within her wall 
Several clays' journey, built by Ninus old, 
Of that first golden monarchy the seat, 
And seat of Salmanassar, whose success 
Israel in long captivity still m.ourns ; 



396 



NATIONAL EPICS. 

There Babylon, the wonder of all tongues, 

As ancient, but rebuilt by him who twice 

Judah and all thy father David's house 

Led captive, and Jerusalem laid waste, 

Till Cyrus set them free ; Persepolis, 

His city, there thou seest, and Bactra there ; 

Ecbatana her structure vast there shows, 

And Hecatompylos her hundred gates ; 

There Susa by Choaspes, amber stream, 

The drink of none but kings ; of later fame. 

Built by Emathian or by Parthian hands, 

The great Seleucia, Nisibis, and there 

Artaxata, Teredon, Ctesiphon, 

Turning with easy eye, thou may'st behold. 

All these the Parthian (now some ages past 

By great Arsaces led, who founded first 

That empire) under his dominion holds, 

From the luxurious kings of Antioch won. 

And just in time thou com'st to have a view 

Of his great power ; for now the Parthian king 

In Ctesiphon hath gathered all his host 

Against the Scythian, whose incursions wild 

Have wasted Sogdiana ; to her aid 

He marches now in haste. See though from far. 

His thousands, in what martial equipage 

They issue forth, steel bows and shafts their arms, 

Of equal dread in flight or in pursuit — 

All horsemen, in which fight they most excel ; 

See how in warlike muster they appear, 

In rhombs, and wedges, and half-moons, and wings.'* 

He looked, and saw what numbers numberless 
The city gates outpoured, light-armed troops 
In coats of mail and military pride. 
In mail their horses clad, yet fleet and strong. 
Prancing their riders bore, the flower and choice 
Of many provinces from bound to bound — 
From Arachosia, from Candaor east, 
And Margiana, to the Hyrcanian cliffs 
Of Caucasus, and dark Iberian dales ; 
From Atropatia, and the neighboring plains 
Of Adiabene, Media, and the south 
Of Susiana, to Balsara's haven. 
He saw them in their forms of battle ranged. 
How quick they wheeled, and flying behind them shot 
Sharp sleet of arrowy showers against the face 
Of their pursuers, and overcame by flight ; 
The field all iron cast a gleaming brown. 
Nor wanted clouds of foot, nor, on each horn. 
Cuirassiers all in steel for standing fight. 
Chariots, or elephants indorsed with towers 



THE STORY OF PARADISE REGAINED, 397 

Of archers ; nor of labouring pioneers 

A multitude, with spades and axes armed, 

To lay hills plain, fell woods, or valleys fill, 

Or where plain was raise hill, or overlay 

With bridges rivers proud, as with a yoke : 

Mules after these, camels and dromedaries, 

And waggons fraught with utensils of war. 

Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp, 

When Agrican, with all his northern powers, 

Besieged Albracca, as romances tell. 

The city of Gallaphrone, from thence to win 

The fairest of her sex, Angelica, 

His daughter, sought by many prowest knights, 

Both Paynim and the peers of Charlemain. 

Such and so numerous was their chivalry. 

Book III. 

He brought our Saviour to the western side 

Of that high mountain, whence he might behold 

Another plain, long, but in breadth not wide, 

Washed by the southern sea, and on the north 

To equal length backed with a ridge of hills 

That screened the fruits of the earth and seats of men 

From cold Septentrion blasts ; thence in the midst 

Divided by a river, off whose banks 

On each side an imperial city stood. 

With towers and temples proudly elevate 

On seven small hills, with palaces adorned, 

Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts, 

Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs, 

Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes 

Above the highth of mountains interposed — 

By what strange parallax, or optic skill 

Of vision, multiplied through air, or glass 

Of telescope, were curious to inquire. 

And now the Tempter thus his silence broke : — 

*' The city which thou seest no other deem 
Than great and glorious Rome Queen of the Earth 
So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched 
Of nations. There the Capitol thou seest, 
Above the rest lifting his stately head 
On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel 
Impregnable ; and there Mount Palatine, 
The imperial palace, compass huge, and high 
The structure, skill of noblest architects. 
With gilded battlements, conspicuous far. 
Turrets, and terraces, and glittering spires. 
Many a fair edifice besides, more like 
Houses of gods — so well have I disposed 
My aery microscope — thou may'st behold, 



398 NATIONAL EPICS. 

Outside and inside both, pillars and roofs 

Carved work, the hand of famed artificers 

In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold. 

Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see 

What conflux issuing forth, or entering in: 

Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces 

Hasting, or on return, in robes of state ; 

Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power ; 

Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings; 

Or embassies from regions far remote. 

In various habits, on the Appian road. 

Or on the /^i^milian — some from farthest south, 

Syene, and where the shadow both way falls, 

Meroe, Nilotic isle, and, more to west, 

The realm of Bocchus to the Blackmoor sea ; 

From the Asian kings (and Parthian among these), 

From India and the Golden Chersoness, 

And utmost Indian isle Taprobane, 

Dusk faces with white silken turbants wreathed ; 

From Gallia, Gades, and the British west ; 

Germans, and Scythians, and Sarmatians north 

Beyond Danubius to the Tauric pool. 

All nations now to Rome obedience pay — 

To Rome's great Emperor, whose wide domain. 

In ample territory, wealth and power. 

Civility of manners, arts and arms. 

And long renown, thou justly may'st prefer 

Before the Parthian. These two thrones except. 

The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight, 

Shared among petty kings too far removed ; 

These having shown thee, I have shown thee all 

The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory. 

Book IV. 



THE END. 



Lb Mr 3? 



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LIBRARY OF .CONGRESS 



